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ALEXANDER TVARDOVSKY 


VASSILI TYORKIN 
A Book About A Soldier 


[en] 


PROGRESS PUBLISHERS 
MOSCOW 


' PROGRESS 
SOVIET At THORS LIBRARY 


ALEXANDER TVARDOVSKY 


VASSILI TYORKIN 


A Book About A Soldier 


fein] 


PROGRESS PUBLISHERS 
MOSCOW 


Translated by Alex Miller 


Teapdoecnuss 
BACHAMH TEPKHH 
Kuura mpo 6oliya 
Ha av2ruticxom R3IviKe | 


©Translation into English. Progress Publishers 1975 
First Printing 1975 


Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics 
70402-498 
T 


Illustrations by Orest Vereisky, People’s Artist of the RSFSR 
Anexcand 


—————- 1017-75 
014(01)-75 


Cogepxanne 


OT ABTOPa ........csseeesseneeees eaaseeseenenseeenecesatsnseeuseeerseeseeeressessunseneesausessenenenss 6 
Ha TPHBAAre .........cesescsseegeereaseseesseeesccesecssseesecsuseagessanscessesseceseteeeesenesaneres 12 
THe ped G0€M oe ccceteceeesensccseessesscsecesesasesessessecsersecrscnasnessecesseaeonseaes 26 
Tle pempana .............sccsccssessssessscsenssccsssensscessoessestosaosnssacseseesessesesasenensneaes 40 
O BOHHE occ eccsesesetseeeeeneee sosscsnscsusecascssecssssessecssesnsnsssessusecsecsusecssecasesesees 56 
TePKHH PaHenl ....,.....csccscessescsssscsssesssensessceesnseseressessesesonsesssseesssesarseesonease 62 
O HALpade .......ccccsesscerseserssesecssesecssenenesssesenssecsseassessescnsescescessesesseeseaseatents 80 
TAPMOHD ........ccsccsssessessscecessecessesssevenseecesesssensassasesseeeeconasseesreesasconererenaees 86 
LUBA COAM ATA ooicecccceccecccscccccsssaeeesecceeecuuuuesesssalusenssecssseseusacessesesassquuansaeretese 102 
O MOTE E 0... ceesescecesecssnesseensessstseeesnenscesneessenstesseessesssessuereseneusnssesseseesners 116 
TIOCAMHOK 0.0.0... eececeeeccteseeceseeeaeeecneesenscseeeessnseascnseeseesccsuenaneesceresscesessegs 128 
OT aBTopa .........0000 seeeeseeceeteesssesneeesnstenneensesenesenesseeasesseeeaeatensesesneeeneeseneste 142 
«KTO CTPOARAD® ...cscccssscssccsscetecescsssesnecnessneessensccsseeenessssonesesesssaseesasssesenses 150 
O POPOC 00... cceeeccesescsesceensresesscacseeassssseecsseuseseacaneaseeesseseseeesesseesansnenenanesegs 162 
TOHEPar onc. .eccecesccccecneeneceseetee ces cneceeecneeseesiecneseneeceeeeensecssesseenenssesieeens 168 
O CODE ooo eeicccccec cece cereeeeneeereecsaaecnseesaeeenseeseeesesaesisescneeensssaesesenesessneeniney 184 
Bot B GOAOTE 00... ccc ccc ccesteeeeenrteeeceeeeas aeesecessneeeeeessseeeeeeesaeeseeseaaee ee 194 
O AOGBH one cece er ee ceee enna ttae etree eeaseseaeeneeseeeeeeisesseaeeetecseeeniiees 212 
OTABIX TO PKHHA ........ cc cccsscscseceseceneceneesnsesssenensneerenenscessesssesneseneanesseenseeses 224 
B HACTYTMACHHH ......cccsscssecessessecereecncecaconetensnesensesereneneseseeserenenesssenssssseneesens 238 
CMEPTh H BOHH 0.0... cccccescsessensesecesssnesacessesesssenersssenensesaesneeaenntesscresieesesees 250 
Tepki MAUIET ...........000 ss eaeenecesnseneceneseseceaseaueessecsensesesasesssensessessaspeseneeay 264 
Te pkKHH — TepKHi ........ccceccesssesssestssceseeneneneessneseenecreneeceenenenanererenenenensnens 270 
OT ABTOPA os esseccssseeeseecneneseneneeaneneessessssrenseatensesarsneragentoes suaeasceeseosseees 282 
LUCA GaGa .......cessesssssesnenstcnencesecesenensceenccseneetensresesesssessoesegseuececeseseasensers 292 
Ha DHCMpe os ceeeccesessecssessesseesesaeeenensesesenesseenserscenecsenseversserseessnesesenetees 308 
TI pO COAAATA-CHPOTY ......ececessesseeneccnessenensnenecnaeeaeencereneeersecesesenseneerrtatenes 322 
Tlo Aopore Ha BepauH ........ccscccscesecseeteeseennecensneraccneetecenerersectacenseneessosees 336 
B GaHE 00... cecceeeetceee eer enn e eee renee ee nD Ee EDL DEE E EEE CR DLE E GA cece G EEE EEE COE EEE E Sea aaa eS 348 


Page 
From the Authot ...............2:scssseensssssccecescacssevecsccssssatscascocucevecsesscnsetesecoass 7 
BiVOUAC .0.0.....c.cccccescasconecnceescecsccacnsaccceccsasenceesacssacscccssseuseecensensensseesscsencens 13 
Before Battle ...............ccccccssesessssssvesaesseccccsecessssecausssocecccesscceasecssssscencaceenes 27 
Crossing OVE .........ccescscscsssssessssecesesceneeceeecessccesesssaessessoneseseseueaserssesesseeey 41 
Concerning War .........ccscsessessestessesseeeeesssseessetscasscensessaesnseenseesesuesensenered 57 
Tyorkin Wounded ..........ceescssssenrensenssssanesesssnssseeseasecsareascessossersesaseoesenes 63 
On Military Decorations .............cscsecesscseecescnseseecevesesacecseseesseeseseseeenseaes 81 
The Accordion .0......ccccccccccccsccccsssesscessecsssessccsceeratsecscesrseesecsecsacesaseaceesses 87 
Two Soldiers ............ccccsesescccossscsscereccuceescaccusscccvsenceecescessanssecenenescecscoeeenses 103 
Lost Property .........:ccscesscsssesececssreessenetseessessesseeen senseceesenseeansnessacassnsesanentss 117 
The Duel ...0....... ec eccccccesscensaccuccusvscacnecsssececeescacsscesscerescscacerscsnensasacsameceeeenss 129 
From the Author .....0........ccccccccceesusccenscceceecenccecccaccucecevceseecessseesseaecauseceees 143 
“Who Did That?” ............:ccccccccesssceccsessssenseeeeeenseeenssnsessseeesseneacenagenaueneens 151 
The Her 2.0.0... .ccceescccstcccecvaverrevscccasccencnsceccnessecccesavecdssnccsssecenacessecsseceseases 163 
The General ...............cccssussccuccnscsacssucvarsessecsansusessaseenscsnssceaecececssarenseaaneces 169 
About Myself .........ccccccsscsssessssessesesenseseeseesseensessenesaeanseatenseenensesneeeneesnes 185 
The Battle of the Marshes ...............cccsseccsescnscccsnceccevecccesssesensesersccscerscecers 195 
OM LOVE 00.0... cccceccccsccceenccnscessccsccceneccuatcsscecusccensecasecessecesceseeeseecesseceseecnaavesaes 213 
Tyorkin Has a ReSt ............sscsssesssessseceecescsersescessensenserseaseseesaessssenseseannas 225 
On the Offensive .............ccccccccsssssecccccnnesscecececceasensccssepanssencceseasessseeeeeeasens 239 
Death and the Soldier ............. Lensnenacentscescseeccceececcccecensecacecsesesecsnaccesesceesens 251 
TyOrkin Write .......:cessssessesereenersnrestecesessesesneeeseeaneesenensnercorseeseneenenressens 265 
Tyorkin v. TyOrkiin ..........ccsseseeceesesnesnenereneneesenensssensanssssneneesaeaesaneneenesnens 271 
From the Author .............cccsseccossececvescesncsscccsccescescapevsecssaarssanesstepesssssanacss 283 
The Old Couple ...........::csscssssssesesnenseseseenesnesnesseneesessesersnnarenssacssesseaeeanes 293 
On the Dinieperr ...........:ccccsccssesessstssecssceessreseesesesaesnenneeescessessnsersnsseenesnenes 309 
The Bereaved Soldier ................cccccsessssccceucesesccccceeesscacessusosssecsesceueesssesees 323 
The Road to Berlin ...............0cscccescscecssosscecscssssscuseeeessecseucererseseensanseecetees 337 
The Bat hs ...........ccceccescccessocnesscrescacecssceneescsecvesascucssrcesscetanersanenceesccesseesers 349 
From the Author ..........ccccsscccsssssacenascccessccnssscecsssecsengcereaseeseseas deccuecearsereres 365 


Afterword. How Vassili Tyorkin Was Written .........-..:::::cecrreeeeenttes 374 


OT ABTOPA 


Ha Bofine, B MbIAM NOXxOgZHOH, 

B aeTHHH 3HOH MH B xOAOga 

Ayuule HeT MpocToH, npupogHoi — 
V3 koaogua, “3 Mpyda, 

Vi3 tpy6pr sogonposogHon, 

V3 KonMbITHOrO CAeda, 

U3 pexu, Kako yroguo, 

13 py4pa, 43-040 Abaa, — 

Aye HeT BOA XOAOAHOH, 

Anwb Boga Ontaa 6 — Boga. 


Ha soltue, B 6sITy cyposom, 

B Tpy4Hot x*xu3HH G6oeBoit, 

Ha cuery, 104 xBouHBIM KPOBOM, 
Ha croaHke noaesoit, — 

Ayuure Het mpocton, 3A0poBoii, 
Ao6pok nuwn ppowToson. 


BaxkHO TOABKO, 4¥TO6BI nopap 
Bora. 651 noBap — Mapeub cBoi; 
roel 4HCAMACA HeAapoM, - 
Yro6 nogyuac He cnaa Hove, — 
Anup 6p1aa 6 ona c HaBapoM 


FROM THE AUTHOR 


When the dust of war blows bitter, 
When it’s hot or cold as hell, 
Nothing’s nicer, nothing’s sweeter— 
From the spring or from the well, 
From the faucet or from Nature, 
From the hoof-track in the dell, 
From the river, any river, 

From the pool in winter’s spell — 
Than a drink of pure fresh water; 
If it’s water, then all’s well. 


In the stress and strain of wartime 
When the going’s getting tough, 

On the snow, beneath the tall pine, 
Out on bivouac, sleeping rou p 

What can beat that good old front-line 
Food, and who can have enough! 


But your Cook must know his onions, 
Yes, your Cook must know his stuff; 
Always busy, never dreaming, 

Never dozing on the job, 

Serving soup all hot and steaming, 


Ala 6biaa 6nI Cc DbIAy, C Kapy — 
TMogo6peit, noropsuen; 

Yro6 nATH B AlOOylo Apaky, 
Cuay 4yBCTByA B MAeyax, 
Boapoctb 4yBcrByx. 

OaqHako 

Ajeao TYT He TOAbKO B Max. 


7Kutb 6e3 MHUJH MOXKHO CyTKH, 
MomxnHo 6o0anmie, HO NOpon 

Ha sBofine O4HOH MHHYTKH 

He npoxntp 6e3 npuOayTKn, 
IytKu caMoii HemyApon. 


He npoxutTs, kak 6e3 MaxopKH, 
Or Gom6exku AO Apyrou 
Be3 xopomei noropopKu 
Van NpucKa3kKu KakoH, — 


Bes te6a, Bacuanii Tepxkun, 
Baca Tepkun— Moi repou, 

A Bcero HHOrO nye 

He npoxuTb HaBepHAKa— 

Bes yero? be3 npapan cywei, 
IIpapani, IpAMO B Ayuly 6bwue;, 
Zja Obtaa 6 ona Noryuye, 

Kax 6p1 Hu OblAa TrOpbKa. 


YUro « euje?.. HW sce, nomaayit. 
Caosom, KHHra po Goya 
Be3 nayaaa, 6e3 Kona. 


Ilouemy Tak—6e3 Hauaaa? 
Iloromy, uro cpoky MaAo 
Haunnatb ee cHadaaa. 


Ilouemy xe 6e3 KOHIIa? 
IIpocto *aAKO MOAOAIa. 


C nepsppix Aue roAuHbl TOPbKOH, 
B TaxKHH 4ac 3eEMAM poAHoHK 


So that you can swear you’ve never 
Tasted better Army grub: 

Leaves you fit to fight forever, 

Fit to tackle anything; 

Fit as twenty men— 

However 

Soup is not the only thing. 


Without any food inside you, 

You can march a day and thrive; 
But without your mates beside you, 
And no stories to delight you, 

It’s a problem to survive; 


Without baccy for the smoking 
When it’s “All Clear!” for a time; 
Without laughing, without joking, 
(Hey, pass this one down the line!); 


Without you, Vassili Tyorkin, 
Vasya Tyorkin, hero mine. 

But you just can’t go on living 
Without one thing most of all. 
What is that? The truth, arriving 
Harsh, relentless, undeceiving, 
Soulwards mercilessly driving, 
Bitter though it be as gall. 


Finally, it needs explaining 
Why this soldier’s book was penned— 
No beginning and no end. 


Why. you'll ask me, no beginning? 
Well, there was no time for spinning 
All this yarn from the beginning. 


Why is it without an end? 
So that we can spare our friend. 


From the first days of affliction, 
In the homeland’s hour of grief, 


10 : 


He wyta, Bacuaui Tepxun, 
TloqpyXHAMCb MbI Cc TOON, 


A 3a6bITb TOTO He BripaBe, 
Uem TBoew O6n3aH CAaBe, 
Uem u rae MOMOF TH MHe. 
Zleay Bpema, 4ac 3a6aBe, 

Aopor Tepxknu Ha Bonue. 


Kak xe Bapyr Te6A NOKUHYy? 
Crapo apyx6pr Bepeu cuerT. 


CaosoM, KHHTy C CepeqHHBI 
Vs naunem. A Tam noider. 


11 


You and I, Vassili Tyorkin, 
Bosom friends became for life. 


I would never dare forgo you, 
There is so much that I owe you, 
So much that I’m grateful for. 

It has been a joy to know you. 
Tyorkin, dear in time of war. 


Can I leave you without warning? 
Friendship calls for loyalty. 


So we'll make our real beginning 
Halfway through. And then we'll see. 


12 


HA TTPHBAAE 


— /leabunIi, 4TO u TOBOpHTD, 
BblA CTapHK TOT CaMbBIit, 

Uro npuayMaa cy BapHTb 

Ha Koaecax NpsMo. 

Cyn — Bo-nepBpix. Bo-sTopnix, 
Kauy B HOpMe MpouHoH. 

Het, crapHk OH ObIA CTapHkK 
UyTKuit— sto TouHOo. 


CAbIIUb, WOAKMHb eye OAHY 
Aomkeuxky Takylo, 

Al BTopyio, 6pat, Bony 

Ha sexy Bow. 

Ouenu, 406aBy 4yTOK. 


Tlokocuaca noBap: 

«Huyero ce6e egox — 
TIapenb oTOT HOBBIM». 
AOXKKy AMUIHIOI KAaZeT, 
MoasurT HECep4HTO: 

— Bam 651, 3HaeTe, BO @AOT 
C pawium annerutom. 


BIVOUAC 


‘He had genius, some old chap: 
Found a way of boiling 

Soup with never spill or slop 
While the kitchen’s rolling. 
First, soup piping hot, and then 
Kasha for your mess-tin. 

Yes, he was a bright old man, 
There can be no question! 


“Dish us out a spoonful more. 
Here, let’s have another! 
This is not my only war, 
It’s my second, brother! 
One more dab— it’s only fair.” 


Cook is slightly startled. 

“Well, we've got a right one here. 
This new lad’s an eater.” 

Slaps some extra on his plate, 
Growls, but not in anger, 

“Better join the Navy, mate, 

If you’re always hungry.” 


14 


Tor:— Cnacu6o. A xax pa3 

He 6n1paa BO paorte. 

Mue 6b1 ayue, Bpose Bac, 
IlosapomM B nexoTe. — 

Vi, ycesmucb nog cocnon, 

Kallly ecT, CYTYAACb. 

«CBoit?» —6oub Mexay Co6on,— 
«CBon!» — meperaaHyAHCb. 


VW yxe, IpHrpeBllincn, car 
‘“Kpenko MoaK ycTaAbiit. 

B nepBoM B3B0fe COH Nponaa, 
Bonpexn yctTasy. 

TIpHBaaach K CTBOAY COCHHI, 
He maja MaxopkKu, 

Ha pone HacueT BOMHBI 

Bea 6eceay Tepxuu. 


— Bam, peOsTa, c cepeaquuKu 
Haunnats. A A CKaKy: 

Al He Nepspie 6OTHHKH 

Be3 NouwsHkKu 34eCb HOLLY. 
Bot Bb 1pH6b1AH Ha MeCTO, 
Py2xKbA B pyKH—H BOM. 


A KOMY M3 BaC H3BeCTHO, 
Uro taxoe cabantyli? 


— Ca6antyii— kakoi-To npa3qHuK? 
Mau uTo Tam —ca6antyit? 


— Ca6antyit 6prsaet pasnuiit, 
A He 3Haellib— He TOAKyit. 
Bor nog nepsow 6bombexxKoit 
TloAeKUUIb C OXOTHI B ACKKY, 
JKMB OCTaACKA— He ropwit: 

— Oro Maan ca6antyi. 


OTAHIUIMCh, MOKyuah MAOTHO, 
SakypH MB yc He ayit. 

Xyxe, 6GpaT, kak MHHOMETHBII 
Bapyr Haunetca ca6antyit. 


15 


“Thanks, but that would never do, 
Tyorkin in the Navy. 

Let me be a cook like you, 

Always in the gravy.” 

And he sits beneath a tree, 
Shoulder hunching over. 


“One of us!” the lads agree, 
Winking at each other. 


All the regiment now snores 
Full of evening rations, 
Number One Biatoon ignores 
Army Regulations. 

Leaning up against his tree, 
See Vassili Tyorkin 

Dishing out most generously 
Wisdom and makhorka.* 


“No need for preliminaries; 

I’m not one of your recruits, 

And I’ve worn out in the service 
Many a pair of Army boots. 
Brand-new uniforms and rifles, 
Straight off to the front, that’s you. 
But can any of you soldiers 

Tell me what’s a sabantu**?” 


“Sabantu? Dunno. Or maybe 

It’s Mongolian for booze?” 

“Don’t show up your ignorance, matie. 
There’s three sorts of sabantus. 
Air-raid warning. Helter-skelter 

To the nearest Sitch for shelter. 

You'll survive it. Don’t get blue. 

That’s a little sabantu. 


“Have a breather. Get some food down. 
Smoke. So that’s an air raid! Pooh! 
Then old Jerry starts a showdown 

With a mortar sabantu. 


* Low-grade tobacco. 
** Normally, a spree or celebration. 


16 


Tor npotmet Te6s noray6xe, — 
SeMAIO-MaTYLIKy Wjeayi. 

Ho umeii B BHAy, ToAy64uHK, 
Sro—cpegnun cabantyit. 


Ca6antTyli— Te6e Hayka, 
Bpar AlwTyeT —CamM AloTyHi. 
Ho copcem HHas WITyKa 
STO—raaBHbii cabantyif. 


IlapeHb CMOAKHYA Ha MHBYTKy, 
Uro6 npouncruTb MyHALITy4OK, 
CAOBHO HCNOABOAB KOMY-TO 
TlogMurnuyaA: AC pKUCb, APyXKOK... 


— Bot Th Bamea Cnosapanky, 
TaasnyA—B not Te6s 4 B ApOxb: 
IlpyT HeMeUKHX THILa TAHKOB... 

— Tsmya TanKos? Hy, 6pat, spe. 


— Ac aero MHE BpaTb, Apyxume? 
Pacey AW — KaKoii pacueT? 

— Ho 3auem xe cpa3y —TbIa? 
— Xopomo. [lyckaii natpcor. 


— Hy, natscor. Ckaxu no 4ectu, 
He nyrai, kak cTappix 6a6. 

— Aaqguo. UtTo TaM TpHcTa, ABeCcTH— 
Tloscrpeyali ogMH xoTa 6... 


— Uro «, B ra3eTKe AO3yHr TOUeH: 
He 6eru B kycTH 4a B XAc6. 
TaHkK— oH c BHAY rpo3eH ovens, 
A Ha Aeae TrAyx H Caen. 


— To-To caen. Aexump B Kkanase, 
A Ha cepaue Maata: 

Bapyr kax cOcAelly 3a4aBuT,— 
Beab He BHAT HH 4eprTa. 


Tloptoputs coraaceH cHopa: 

To He 3Haewib—He TOAKyi. 
Ca6antyit — OAHO AMIIb CAOBO— 
Ca6antyii!.. Ho ca6antyit 


17 


“This time, all those bangs and whizzes 
Really scare the pants off you. 

But remember, brother, this is 

Just a medium sabantu. 


“Sabantus teach you a lesson. 

Fritz gets rough and so should you. 
Quite a different proposition 

Is a super-sabantu.” 


Tyorkin pauses here, delaying, 

Cleans his mouthpiece for a bit. 
Winks at someone, as if saying, 
“Just a moment. Wait for 1t!...” 


‘“ P you get as day is dawning, 

Take a look and—suffering cats! 
German tanks—a thousand—coming....’ 
“German tanks—a thousand? Rats!’ 


’ 


“Listen, would I fool you, brother? 

No sense trying anyway.” 

“How come all those tanks together?” 
“Well, all right. Five hundred, say.” 
“Still too many tanks. You’ve blundered. 
Needn't try to scare us, son.” 


“Say, three hundred, or two hundred... 
Well, if you insist — just one.” 


“Like it tells you on the poster, 
‘Don’t dash into scrub or grain!’ 
Though your tank may look a monster, 
He’s stone-deaf and blind, that’s plain.” 


“Sure! Down in a ditch you're lying, 
And your heart goes pit-a-pat. 
Since he can’t see where he’s going, 
Suddenly he'll squash you flat. 


“Don’t show off your ignorance, matie, 
Don’t talk such a lot of rot. 

Sabantu seems nothing, maybe, 

But a word—and yet, and yet 


18 


MoxeT B roAOBy yAapHTB, 
Mau nonpocty, B 6amky. 

Bot y Hac ogun Ona Mapenb... 
Ajatite, aro au, TabaaKy. 


Bbaaarypy CMOTpAT B por, 
CAOBO AOBAT 2KaAHO. 
Xopomo, Korga KTO Bpet 
Beceao # CKAaAHO. 


B cTropone AecuHoi, rayxoi, 
IIpu anxou noroge, 
XOpomlo, Kak eCTb Takoli 
Ilapenb Ha noxoge. 


Vs Hecmeao y Hero 
I{pocat: — Hy-ka, Ha HOUb 
Pacckaxu enje 4ero, 
Bacnani HMpauniy... 


Hou rayxa, 3eMAA chIpa. 
Uytb KocTep ABMHTCA. 


— Hert, pe6ara, cnat» nopa, 
HaynuHalt CTeAHTBCA. 


K pykaBy pumas AnIOM, 
Ha nmpurpetom B3sropKe 
Mex ToBapnie 6onnOB 
Aer Bacnanit Tepkun. 


‘Tsokeaa, MOKpa UIHHEAb, 
lox ab paboran Ao6 prt. 
Kptinia— He60, xaTa— eab, 
Kopuu %XMyT 04 pe6pa. 


Ho He BHAHO, 4TOOH OH 
YApyuen On sTuM, 
UtTo6n con emy He B COH 
['ae-Hu6yAb Ha CBeTe. 


19 


It can smack you on the noddle, 
Otherwise known as the bonce. 
(Got some baccy, anybody?) 
We'd a laddie with us once....” 


And they hang on every word, 
Scared to lose a minute; 

Good to have a wag like him 
Serving with the unit. 


In the forest dark and grim, 
When the cold winds bite you, 
Good to have a lad like him 
Marching there beside you. 


And they ask him, all polite, 
“Tell another yarn which 

We could end on for the night, 
Vassili Ivanych.” 


Still the night and damp the ground, 
Campfire embers fading.... 


“No, lads. Time for kipping down. 
Organise your bedding.’ 


Face half-buried in his arm, 
Flat out on his stomach, 
Tyorkin settles, snug and warm, 
On a grassy hummock. 


Damp his heavy greatcoat feels. 
Fine rain drizzling lightly; 
Sky for roof and trees for walls, 
Tree-roots hurting slightly. 


But he never gives a sign 

That he’s feeling restless. 

You would think him bedded down 
On a feather mattress. 


20 


Bor OH NOABI NOATAHYA, 
YKpbibad CIMHY, 
Upbio-TO Telly NOMAHYA, 
Tleaxy w nmepnuy. 


Vs mpuunk K 3eMaAe ChIpol, 
OaoaeH HCTOMOH, 

Vs aexuT OH, MOH repod, 
Cnt ce6e, kak Joma. 


CrnutT— xoOTb roAogeH, XOTb CHIT, 
XOTb O4HH, XOTb B Ky¥e. 

CnaTb 3a MpexHUu HeAOCHIN, 
CnaTb B 3amac Hay4eH. 


Vi eaBa Ab repoio CHUTCA 
Bcakoii HOUbIO TAXKKHH COH: 
Kak OT 3anagHon rpaHuiypl 
OTcrymaa Kk BOCTOKY 0H; 


Kak tpomiea on, Baca Tepxuu, 
U3 sanaca pagosoi, 

B mpocoaenHuolt ramMHacTepKe 
CoTHH BepcT 3eMAM pOdHOH. 


Zjo uero 3eman 6oaban, 
Beanyahiiaa 3eMaAn. 

Vi Ontaa 6 ona uyxKan, 
Upa-HH6y 4b, a TO—CBOR. 


Cnut repo, xpanuT—nu Touxa. 
IIpuHnmMaer BCe, Kak eCTp. 

Hy, CBoA —Tak 3TO 2K TOUHO. 
Hy, notHa—vTak A Ke 34€Cb. 


Cnt, 3a6nIB O Tpy4HOM aAeTe. 
Coun, 3a6ora, He OyHTyit. 
MoxeT, 3aBTpa Ha paccBeTe 
bydeT Hospi cabautyi. 


Cnat 6o%upI, Kak COH 3acTaa, 
Ilog cocuow snoéxar, 
Yacoppie Ha moctTax 

MokuyT o4MHOKo. 


21 


Then he gives his coat a hitch, 
Since his back feels colder; 
Silently, he starts to bitch, 

Just like any soldier. 


On the damp ground lying prone, 
Very tired and weary, 

ust as in his bed at home 

leeps my gallant hero. 


Cold or hungry, he’s adept, 
Sleeping to some purpose; 
Catching up when underslept, 
Storing up a surplus. 


But there’s one thing, while he’s resting, 
Spoils his sleep some nights at least: 
And that’s how he left the Western 
Border-line, retreating East. 


How he trudged, did Private Tyorkin, 
Through his homeland in retreat, 
Verst on verst, with tunic soaking, 
Aching heart and aching feet. 


Vast and boundless is our homeland, 
And no matter where you stray, 

It is yours, it is your own land, 

You belong there anyway. 


Tyorkin snores. There’s no more to it. 
He just takes things as they come. 

“I belong, and well I know it. 

Russia needs me. Here I am!” 


Sleep. Forget the summer’s sorrow. 
Worrying’s no good to you. 

Maybe dawn will bring tomorrow 
Yet another sabantu. 


And the men sleep on the ground 
Underneath the pine trees, 

While the rain comes drizzling down 
On the lonely sentries. 


22 


3ru He BHAHO. Houb BoKpyr. 

VW 6o0%uy B3arpycruetca. 

TOAbKO 4TO-TO BCIOMHHT BApyr, 
BcnOoMHHT, YCMeXHETCA. 


VM xak 6ygTo con mpomaa, 
Cmex IIpornHaa 3eBOTY. 


— Xopoumio, uro OH Mona, 
Tepkuu, B Hallly porty. 


* * * 


TepkuH— KTO *e OH TaKOH? 
CxkaxkeM OTKpOBeHHO: 
IIpocro napeub cam cobon 
On oObIKHOBEHHBIM. 


Bnporem, WapeHb XOTb kya. 
Ilapeub B sTOoM poge 

B kaon pote ecTb Bcera, 
Jja M B KaxKAOM B3BOJe. 


VW suto6 3Haan, 4emM CHAeH, 
CkaxkeM OTKPOBeHHO: 
KpacoTow HajeaeH 

He 651A OH OTMEHHOR. 


He BBICOK, HE TO 4TOG Maa, 
Ho repou—repoem. 
Ha Kapeanckom BoeBan — 
3a pexoli Cectpow. 


Vi ne 3Haem nowemy,— 
CnpamupatTb He cTaAn,— 
Tlouemy Torga emy 

He aaa Megaan. 


C 9ToH TeMBI IlOBepHeM, 
Cxaxem 4A lopagka: 
MoxeT, B CMCcKe HarpaqHOM 
Bauuaa onewatTKa. 


23 


Pitch-black night. The sentry there 
Stands, in some dejection. 

Then he grins from ear to ear 

At some recollection. 


Sleep is banished right away, 
Yawning turns to laughter. 


“Now that Tyorkin’s come to stay, 
Things’ll be much better.” 


* * * 


Tyorkin, who might he be, pray? 
No need to be chary: 

He’s a fellow, you might say, 
Rather ordinary. 


Still, he’s really quite a lad, 
Got something about him. 
There’s no Army company 
Or platoon without him. 


Is he handsome of aspect? 
No need to be chary: 

We must answer with regret, 
Frankly, no, not very. 


Not so tall as soldiers go; 
But true hero’s mettle 
During the Karelian show 
He displayed in battle. 


And we really don’t know why 
(Not that we would meddle) 
Vasya Tyorkin’s bravery 
Didn’t.rate a medal. 


Shall we give this one a miss? 
It would be much fairer 

Just to say the Honours List 
Had a printer’s error. 


24 


He raagn, 4TO Ha rpydn, 
A rasau, 4To Briepegnu! 


B crpox c won, B Oo C MIOAA, 
CHospa TepkKuH Ha BOoHHe. 


— Buano, 6om6a wan nyAn 
He Halaacb elje MO MHe. 


Bara B 6010 3afeT OCKOAKOM, 
3aKHAO— HM CTOABKO TOAKY. 
Tpuxap 6bIA A OKpyxKeH, 
Tp Abl — BOT OH! —BBIWEA BOH. 


YW xorp 6prao GecnoKonHO— 
OctTaBaAca HeBpeaAMM 

Iloga orHeM KOCBIM, TpeXCAOHHEIM, 
Iloq HaBeCcHbIM HM TIPAMBIM. 


VM ue pa3 B NyYTH NpHBHYHOM, 
Y AOPOr, B WEIAM KOAOHH, 
BbLA pacceaH A YaACTHUHO, 
A wacTH4Ho ucrpe6aex... 


Ho, ogHako, 

Kus Bonka, 

K kyxHe —C MmecTa, c MecTra—B 60i1. 
KypuT, ecT M MbeT CO CMaKOM 

Ha no3nuyHH Aw6on. 


Kak HM Tpy4HO, Kak HH Xy40— 
He cqapau, snepeg ranan, 


STO NpucKa3ka MOKyAa, 
Cxa3ka 6yyeT BHepean. 


25 


Never mind what’s on your chest, 
Look ahead and keep abreast! 


June called up. July—in action. 
yorkin’s in the wars again. 


“Contrary to expectation, 
Still no bullet with my name. 


“In the fighting I was wounded 
By a fragment—just a nip. 

And three times I was surrounded, 
And three times I gave the slip. 


“And though feeling mildly nervous, 
I've come through (and it was dire) 
Indirect and cross, as well as 
Overhead and triple fire. 


“To the long route-march accustomed, 
Often on the dusty road 

I've been partially dispersed, and 

I’ve been partially destroyed.” 


But he’s still 

Alive and kicking: 
Kitchen—camp-site—battle station. 
Gaily eating, drinking, smoking, 
Whether waiting or in action. 


When you think you can’t be winning, 
Don’t give up, but look ahead. 


This is only the beginning, 
Now the story starts instead. 


26 


MIEPE, BOEM 


— Aoaoxy xorta 6n1 BkKpaTue, 
Kak MpHWAOCb HaM B CYeT BOMHBI 
C retaa K @poHTy mpo6upatTsca 

C Trou, c HeMeuKOH CTOpOHHI. 


Kak C HeMelIKOH, Cc TOH 3apeyKoi 
Cropouil, Kak roBOpAT, 

Bcaeg 3a BAaCTbW 3a COBETCKOH, 
Bcaeg 3a poOHTOM wea. Ham Gpar... 


Illea nam 6pat, xygouw, roaoqnniit, 
Tlorepasuinii CBA3b M 4ACTh, 

Illex NOpoTHO uH NOB3BOAHO, 

VW komnannett cpo6o4Hon, 

Vi oquu, Kak nepct, moguac. 


Tloaem mea, AeCHOIO KpoMKOi, 
H36eraa AMWHHX raa3, 
Tlogxoaua k ceAy B NOTeMKax, 
VWs cay#XHA EMy KOTOMKOM 
Boeson mporusoras3. 


BEFORE BATTLE 


Here’s reporting how a soldier 

In those unpropitious times 
Headed frontwards from the rear, 
From behind the German lines; 


From the wrong side of the river, 

As the lads all used to say, 

Towards the embattled Soviet armies, 
Gaining slowly day by day. 


How he marched, gaunt with privation, 
All communications gone, 

With this squad or with that section, 
Or with any chance collection, 

Or entirely on his own. 


Crossing fields and skirting forests, 
Steering clear of alien eyes, 
Nearing villages in darkness, 

All his gear inside his Service 
Gas-mask, carried knapsack-wise. 


28 


Hea on, ceppri, 6opogaTHi, 
HH, yenasacb 3a nopor, 
3axogHa B AlO6yl0 xarTy, 
CAOBHO 4eM-TO BHHOBATHIN 
Ilepeg nett. A 4To on mor! 


Vi no roppkoi To NpuBEKe, 
Kak B IIYTH BeAe€Aa 4ECTB, 

Ou Mpocnwa cnepBa BOAMYEH, 
A TIOTOM IIpocwA MmoectTp. 


TetKka—rge 9K OHa OTKaKeT? 
XOTb KakOH, a BCe X* TH CBOH. 
Huuero Te6e ue cKaxer, 
ToAbKO BCXAHMHeT Hag TO6OH, 
TOAbKO MOABHT, IIpOBoOKan: 
— Boportutsca gai sam Oor... 


To O6biaa Mewarb GOAbAA, 
Kak 6peau MBI Ha BOCTOK. 


flan xyabie, wan Gocnie 
B Hew3BeCcTHBIe Kpaa. 

Uto Tam, rae ona, Poccua, 
IIo kako py6ex cBoa! 


Iau, ogunaxo. Hea na... 


A aoporow nocTHAon 
TIpo6upaaca He Ogun. 
Ueaosek Hac AecatTb 6n1aA0, 
Bala y Hac 4 KOMaHAMp. 


V3 6008. Myxunna Jeabuniit, 
MecTHOCTb STy 3HaA BOKpyr. 

A x, kaK 6Goaee ngenupli, 

Bela TaM Kak ObI MOAMTpyK. 


Ilan 6o%ubI 3a Hamu CAegzoOM, 
Tloxngaa MAeHHbIi Kpai. 

A oqny moauTOecegy 
Tlopropaa: 

— He yuurpai. 


29 


Dusty, ashen-faced, unshaven, 
Clutching at the lintel post, 

If he called at any cabin, 

He was haunted by some craven 
Sense of guilt for so much lost. 


And obedient to the bitter 
Custom of that long retreat, 
First he'd beg a glass of water, 


Then he’d beg a bite to eat. 


Grannic¢ can't refuse him lightly— 
Ours, whoever he may be— 

Though she may be weeping slightly, 
Not another word says she, 

Only, “So you have to leave us? 

May God send you back at least.” 


Sad the story was and grievous 
Of our trek towards the east. 


Marching barefoot, marching hungry, 
Into regions no one knew. 

What's ahead? Where are you, Russia? 
How much is there left of you? 


On they marched. And I did, too. 


I was not the only soldier 

Pushing down that road through hell. 
There were ten of us together, 

And an NCO as well. 


From the ranks. A canny fellow. 
Knew those parts. I was a kind 
Of political adviser 

Being seriously inclined. 


And the men brought up behind us, 
Leaving lands no more our own. 

My political advice was 

Just, 
“Don’t let them get you down. 


30 


He 3apBeMcaA, Tak NpopBemca, 
BydeM >*KMBbI— HE MOMpeM. 
Cpok mpnHder, Ha3aq BepHeMca, 
UTo oTgaau— Bce BepHeoM. 


Camoro 6 MeHA CHpocHan, 
PoBHO CTOAbKO 3HaA H A, 
Uto Tam, rae ona, Poccua, 
Ilo xaxov py6ex cBoa? 


KomanHaup mlaraA yrpiomo, 
Toxe, HCHOABOAb CMOTPH, 
UTo-TO OH BCe AYMaA, AYMAA... 
— Bpocp Ts AyMaTb,— rosopw. 


Tosopio emy AyuleBHo. 

OH B OTBET H MOABHT BApyr: 
— Io nytu mon gepesua. 
Kak TH MBICAHUIb, MOAHTpyK? 


Uro oTsetutTh? Kak «A MBICAIO? 
Buxy, tape Mpayer Baran, 
CaM NOHHK, ycH OOBHCAH. 

Hy, a 4em OH BHHOBaT, 

Uro AepeBHA no Aopore, 

UTo Ayla 3aHbIAa B HEM? 

Tyt Kakoi 651 un Onta crpornit, 
A cka3aa 6pr THI:«3aitzeM...» 


BcTpeneHyAca ACHBIM COKOA, 
Bpocwa AyMatb, Hauaa NeTb. 
Bnepegu wget aaaexo, 
Otopsaaca— ne mocnerb. 


A MIpHUIAM TyAa MBI 11034HO, 
Vi 3agamu, Kononaed, 

OcropoxHnlit wu CepbesHErit, 
Bea on sBcex k ce6e gomoit. 


Bot kak 6b1A0 c HalMM 6paToM 
Utro nonaa AOMoH Cc BOHHEI: 
3ax04u B pogHyo xaty, 
IIpo6upasce BAOAb CTeHEI. 


b] 


31 


“If we play it cool and stick it, 
We'll come out of this alive. 
We'll be back again. We'll make it. 


Wait, our moment will arrive.” 


Even had the soldiers asked me, 

I’d have not known any more: 
What’s ahead? Where is she, Russia? 
How much is there left of her? 


Silent our CO and moody, 
So I watched him covertly. 
He kept brooding, brooding, brooding... 
“Here, you think too much,” said I. 


What I said was meant sincerely, 
He gave me a funny look: 

“Well, we’re at my village, nearly. 
What’s the verdict, politruk?” 


Verdict? What am I to tell him? 

He won’t look me in the eye, 
Shoulders bowed, moustaches wilting.... 
Is it his fault, anyway, 

If his home is near the pathway, 

If he’s feeling sad and low? 

Who'd be strict and not give leeway? 
Anyone would say, “‘Let’s go!” 


Lo, the falcon stretched his pinions, 
Brightened up, burst into song; 
Left us lagging far behind him 

As he swift y strode along. 


It was late when we arrived there. 
Wary, watchful, stern of face, 

He conducted us through hemp-fields 
And back gardens to his place. 


That’s how many a Russian soldier 
Had to pay his folks a call, 
Creeping round the family cottage 
Flattened up against the wall. 


32 


Sua Bneped, YTO TOAKy MaAO 
OT poauMMoro yraa, 

Uro somna UW TYT CTyMaaa, 
Bnepeau Te6a npom.aa, 

Uro te6e cpoeH no6nipKon 
He nopagopaTh *Keny: 
3a6exaa, NOCMaA ypbIBKOM, 
ZJOTOHAM OMATb BOHHY... 


BoT x03AHH CeA, pasyACca, 
Pyky lpasylo— Ha CTOA, 
ByATO C M€ABHHLbI BEPHyACA, 
C Moan K yxKHHy NIpHuIMea. 
ByATo Tak, a Bce MHate... 

— Hy, *ena, TONM-Ka 1e4b, 
Bcem AOBOABCTBHEM TOpAGHM 
Mue komandy o6ecneub. 


JjeTu cnat. Kena xaonouert, 

B roppKuii, rpyCTHbIM Mpa34HHK CBOH, 
Kak HH MaAO 9TOM HOM, 

A HW Ta—HuHe elt OAHON. 


PacTOpOnmHbIMH pyKaMu 
*Kaput, BapuT nmocKopei, 
YloaoTenyja c NeTyxaMu 
JloctTaeT, Kak AA rocteH. 


Hanowaa, HaKOpMHAa, 
YAORKHAa Ha NOKON, 

Zia c Takokw 3a60TOH MnAOH, 
C go6pok aackow Taxol, 
CaAOBHO MBI HHOM Mopor 
3aBepHyAM B STOT 40M, 
CaoBuo 651An MBI repo, 

Vis He MaAzle NpHToM. 


CaM XO3AHH, CTaplini BOHH, 
Uro cngea cpegn roctei, 
Bpsg an 6bIA Korga AOBOACH 
Tak xO3AHKOI0 CBOeH. 


33 


And be warned—there’s little for you 
In the place you love the most. 

War has stepped in there before you, 
War has beat you to the post. 

For your wife, small consolation 

In those hours of stolen time. 

Snatch some fitful sleep, then hasten 
Off to find the battle line.... 


Right arm on the supper table, 
Boots off, beaming with good-will, 
Sat our host, as comfortable 

As if just back from the mill. 

Such, at least, was the impression.... 
“Stoke the fire, love, stoke it well. 
CO’s orders. Issue rations 

Piping hot to personnel!” 


The children sleep. But at that bitter 
Festive time she never rests. 
Though her night is short and precious 
Still she shares it with her guests. 


Boiling, roasting without respite, 

At the steaming stove she stands; 

Takes her guests the embroidered towels 
As the custom there demands. 


Generously she entertained us, 
Served us food and drink to spare, 
And with fussy, loving kindness 
Found us room to sleep somewhere. 


As if we had called to see her 

When times were not what they were, 
As if we were gallant heroes 

Home triumphant from the war. 


And our host and senior, seated 
There among his guests at ease, 
Was he ever more delighted 
With that darling wife of his? 


34 


Bpaa AM BCei OHA yxBaTKOl 
XorTb korga-Hu6yab Gna, 

Kak Ipw sTOW BCTpeye KpaTKOH, 
Tak pojHa M Tak MHMAa. 


VI 60aeA OH, MapeHb YeCcTHHIH, 
TloHuMaa, OTel, CeEMbH, 

Ha koro B maeny 6e3BecTHOM 
Tloxnaaa *eHy C JeTbMH... 


Konuns cOopsl, pasroBpopHl, 
YaerAnch SoH Ub B AOMY. 
Aer xo3aun. Ho ne cxopo 
Mogomaa ona K HeMy. 


Tuxo 3BaKkaaa nocyfon, 
Yro-ro mmmaa pu orne. 
A XO3AHH 2K geT oTTy Aa, 
V3 yraa. 

HeaoBKo MHe. 


Bce ropapnuyu ycuyan, 
A Me€HA He HET KO CHy. 
Ajait-ka ayue B Kapayae 
Ha KpblAeake MpHkopuHy. 


B3AA DIMHEAb Ja, 10 IIPHCAOBBbI, 
Cmactepna ce6e moctean, 

Yro n04 HW3, H B H3FrOAOBEE, 

VM Hapepx,—u sce — nIMHEAB. _. 


OX, CVKOHHaA, Ka3eHHan, 
BoeuuHaan wIHHeAb,— 

Y KocTpa B Aecy NpoxkxKeHHaA, 
OTMeHHan DIHMHEAb. 


3HaMeHMTaA, NpobutTaa 
B 60.1 orHem sBpara 

Aja caoeH pyKoui 3ammtraa,— 
Komy He Aoporal 


35 


On this all too brief occasion 
Never did she show more charm, 
Leave upon him an impression 
More endearing, kind, or warm. 


And it grieved him, honest soldier, 
Father of a family, 

So to leave his wife and children 
Doomed to face captivity... 


Soon, the evening’s talk was over, 
All the soldiers hit the sack. 

So did he. She didn’t join him, 
Waited, as if holding back. 


Washing up the dishes quietly, 
Sitting by the fire to sew. 
He lay in the corner, waiting. 
Seemed to me 

I'd better go. 


All my mates were sleeping soundly. 
I lay sleepless, open-eyed, 
Thought I'd do some sentry duty, 
Kip down on the porch outside. 


Well, I had no choice of bedding, 
And the job was quickly done; 
Made my greatcoat do for pillow, 
Sheets wad blankets—all in one. 


How I’d miss you, Army issue 
Military coat, 

Governmental, free from rental, 
Singed-at-campfire coat. 


Governmental, free from rental, 
Slightly bullet-holed, 

Mended duly by yours truly, 
Worth your weight in gold. 


36 


Ynaselth AM, KA2K NOAKOMEHHEH, 
IlopaneHHn Ham 6par, 

Ha wmHeAw TOH NOHOMEHHOH 
Cuecyt Te6a B can6arT. 


A y6nioT— Tak TeAO MeEpTBOE 
TBoe Cc APyrHMH B pxd 

Toh mMneakow 1oTeprow 
YKpolwT— cm, coagat! 


Cru, COAAaT, pW %KH3HM KpaTKOH 
Hu 8 g4opore, HH B AOMy 
He Mpvmaocb nocnaTbh NOpAAKOM 
HW C *XCHOH, HH OAHOMY... 


Ha KpBIAbI{O XO3AMH BBIIIIeA. 
Ton MHe HOGH He 3a6hHITB. 


— Tus vero? 
— A wa Aposuutek 
ZJaa xo3aiiku Hapy6uTh. 


Bot He CNHTCAH 4eAOBeKy, 
CaoBHO 40Ma— Ha BOHHE. 
SaliaraA Ha ApOBoceKy, 

Py6nT xBopocT upH AyHe. 


Tok 4a Tiox. {fo cBeta py6ur. 

Kopotka coaaaTy HO4Ub. 

3uaTh, *KeHy 2KadeeT, AWOuT, 

fla He 3HaeT, GEM NOMOYB. 
6ut, py6ut. Ha paccpete 
oxHAaeT Jom 6oen. 


A 104 CBeT NpOcHyAMch AeTH, 
Morag AaT— upuoiea oten. 
Tloraas ant — 60n hI 4ayKHe, 
%KbA pa3sHBle, PeMHH. 
peOata, kak Ooabmue, 
CaoBHO NOHAAM OHH. 


37 


If a bullet finds its billet, 
Sends you flying over, 

No fine stretcher for to fetch yer, 
But your greatcoat, brother! 


If you fade out, then it’s laid out, 
With the rest you'll be, 

Very dead there in your threadbare 
Greatcoat. RIP. 


Sleep. In your brief lifetime, soldier, 
the march or safe at home, 
You have slept but little, either 
With your wife or all alone.... 


From the house our host emerges. 
How can I forget that night? 


“Something wrong?” 
“Just for the missus... 
Firewood’s getting kind of light.” 


He’s not in the mood for sleeping. 
Though he’s home, war still seems near. 
And he goes to chop some firewood 

In the moonlight, cold and clear. 


Chop, chop, chopping until sunrise.... 
All too soon, it’s break of day. 

Yes, he loves his wife most dearly, 
Wants to help her in some way. 


So he hews and hews. For morning’s 
Light will find our soldier gone. 


When the children, waking early, 
Looked, and saw their dad was home, 
Saw the unfamiliar soldiers, 

Different rifles, different gear, 

Then they understood, like grown-ups, 
And were filled with sudden fear. 


38 


VWs samaaKkaau pe6sta. 

Vs nogyMatb 6nIA0 TyT: 
MoxeT, HBIHYe B STY XaTy 
Hemupbl C pyXXbAMH BOHAYT... 


VY goubine NAad TOT AeTCKHH 

B paHHuii aac AMxOrO AHA 

C Tow HeMelyKOH, C TOH 3apel|Kon 
CTOpoOHEI 30BeT MCHA. 

A 6 meutaa He pag CAaBbI 
ae yYTpoM OoesbiM, 

A 6 xeaaa Ha Geper npasaii, 
Boi npowAA, BCTYNUTb *KMBBIM. 


VU cxaxy a 6e3 yraixn, 
IIpHeequcb MHE TaM HATH, 
A xoTea 6b K TOM xO3NHHKe 
Iloctyyarnca no nyTH. 


Tlonpocuts Boab HallHTbCcA — 
He 3arTem, 4To6 CecTb 3a CTOA, 
A 3aTeM, 4TO6 MOKAOHHMTBCA 
Ao6pot xenunHe Mpocro;i. 


IIpo xo3anHa AM CIpocuT,— 
«Tloaaraio — HB, 340pOB». 

B3ATb TONOp, UIMHeEAbKy COpocuTs, 
Hapy6utb xo3alixe Apo. 


Iloromy — xo3anH-6apuH 
Huyero Ham HE CxKa3aa. 
MoxeT, HbIHYe 3EMAIO MapHT, 
3a KOTOpy.0 CTOAA... 


Brpouem, uTo TaM AyMaTb, OpaTupt, 
Hago nemyya OMTE CHeWNTD. 

Bot u sce, uro Tepxuy Bxpatue 
BaM UMeeT AOAOKNTS. 


39 


And the children started crying, 
And you saw in your mind’s eye 
German soldiers armed with nfles 
Bursting in there suddenly... 


And that sound of children crying 
Calls to me from far away, 

From the wrong side of the river 
Even to this very day. 


In my dreams, awaiting battle, 

Not for glory do I strive, 

But to make it through the fighting 
To that farther shore alive. ° 


And I say it quite sincerely, 
Should I reach the other shore, 
Then, believe me, I would surely 
Knock on that good lady’s door. 


And I'd beg a glass of water 
Not so’s to be wined and dined, 
But to take my cap off humbly 
To a lady good and kind. 


Should she ask about her husband— 
“No doubt doing fine,” I'd say; 

Take the axe, throw off my greatcoat, 
Chop some firewood for the day. 


From our genial host and master 
None of us heard any more. 

He might well be six feet under 
In the soil he battled for. 


No two ways about it, fellows. 
Smash the Germans soon! In short, 
That is all Vassili Tyorkin 

Has to say in his report. 


40 


MEPEITPABA 


Ilepenpasa, nepempasna! 
beper vephi, Oeper npaByn, 
Cuer wepmasbiti, KDOMKa Aba... 


Komy MaMATb, KOMy CAaBa, 
Komy TeMHaA BOAa,— 
Hu puMertl, HM CAeda. 


Houbw, NepBbIM 43 KOAOHHH, 
OOAoMaB y Kpanv aed, 
Ilorpy3Haca Ha NOHTOHBI 
Tleppaiti B3B04. 

Tlorpy3HAca, OTTOAKHYACH 

VM nomea. Bropow 3a HMM. 

II pHroroBuaca, NpHrHyAca 
TpetTuit caeqoM 3a BTOpBIM. 


Kak NAOTH, MOULAH MOHTOHBI, 
TpombixHyA OAMH, Apyron 
Bacospbim, *eAC3HbIM TOHOM, 
TouHo Kpblia M04 HOrTOH. 


CROSSING OVER 


Crossing over! Crossing over! 
Left bank, right bank of the river, 
Crusted snow and fringe of ice.... 


Some found memories, some found glory, 
Some, the water’s dark embrace— 
Not a vestige, not a trace. 


Night, and leading all the column, 
Number One Platoon, 

Broke the sheet-ice on the water, 
Boarded the pontoons; 

Boarded them and pushed off slowly, 
And were gone. Next, Number Two. 
After them, half-shuffling, stooping, 
Number Three got ready too. 


Off the pontoons glided slowly, 
One by one, like rafts afloat, 
Booming in a bass of iron 

Like a rooftop underfoot. 


42 


VW snasipyT Oop KyAa-TO, 
I[putaus WITHKH B TeHH. 
VY coscem caon pebata 
Cpasy —6yaTo He Onn, 


Cpasy 6yaTo He noxoxu 

Ha cponx, Ha Tex, peOarT: 
Kak-TO Bce ApyKHeH HM CTpoxKe, 
Kaxk-To Bce Tebe Aopoxe 

VW poguet, uem aac asad. 


TloraageTb —u BIIpAMb— pebata! 
Kak, 10 pape, *eATOPOT, 
XOAOCTOH AM OH, 2*KeHAaTHIA, 

OTOT CTpyKeHbiM Hapod. 


Ho yxe uayt pebata, 

Ha Bpotine *MByT Soup, 

Kak korga-HH6yAb B ABaAlaTOM 
Mx ropapuun — OTUBI. 


Tem nyTem HAYT CypOBbIM, 

Utro uw ABeCTH Ae€T Ha3zaJq 
IIpoxoana Cc pyxkbeM KpeMHEBBbIM 
PyccKHH TpyKeHHK-COAAAaT. 


MuMo HX BHCKOB BUXpacrThX, 
Bo3ae HX MaAbYMINbMX TAa3 
CmepTpb B 6010 CBHCTeAa 4YacTO 
Vi MMHeT AM B 9TOT pa3? 


Haaeran, rpe6yt, notes, 
YIpaBAAWTCA C WIeCTOM. 
A Boga peBeT Ipapee — 
Iloq n0AOpBaHHBIM MOCTOM. 


Bor yxe Ha cepeqnHe 
Ux OTHOCHT H Kpy2KHT... 


A BOda peBeT B TECHHHE, 
JKyXAbIM ACA B KYCKM KDOUIMT, 
Mex lorHyTbix 6aA0K bepMbI 
bbeTca B MeHe MU B BIA... 


43 


With their bayonets hid in shadow, 
Off they sail, silent, intent; 

And the faces, so familiar, 
Suddenly seem different. 


For the lads now standing near you 
Aren't the ones you used to know; 
Each is closer, each is clearer, 

Each is graver, starker, dearer 
Than he was an hour ago. 


Look—and suddenly it hits you: 
All those lads with close-cropped hair, 
Whether married men or single, 
Are just rookies standing there. 


Yet they’re going into battle, 

Though mere boys and nothing more, 
Like their fathers and their comrades 
Way back in the Civil War. 


Theirs the road down which the Russian 
Soldier-toiler had to go, 

Flintlock musket on his shoulder, 

Some two hundred years ago. 


Past the unkempt, tousled temples, 
Past the boyish eyes so bright, 
Death in battle whistled often— 
Will it spare them all tonight? 


Now the oarsmen pul! together, 
Guided by a punting pole; 

To their right, beneath a blown-up 
Bridge, the waters seethe and roll. 


And the current midstream hits them 
Broadside on and spins them round.... 


Roars and booms as through a mill-race, 
Cracks the ice and grinds it down, 

"Mid the twisted girders flinging 

Spray and dust high in the air... 


44 


A yx TlepBhI B3BO4, HaBepHo, 
AjoctaeT WIecTOM 3e€MAH. 


Ilo3aqu WIyMMT MpoToKa, 

VM KpyromM— sya HO4b. 

VM syxe On Tak AaarexKo, 

UrTo HH KPHKHYTb, HH TOMO4b. 


HM suepneer tam 3y6uaTHi, 
3a XCAOAHON 4epTOH, 
Henogctynuni, HenovaTHi 
Aec Hag YePHOW BOAOH. 


Ilepenpasa, nepenpasa! 
Beper mpashiii, kak CTenHa... 


OTOH HOY CAeCA KPpOBaBhili 
B Mope BBIHeCAa BOAHA. 


bHAO TaK: H3 TbMB rAy6oxKoH, 
OrHeHHbI B3MCTHYB KAHHOK, 
Ay4 mpoxektTopa npoToKy 
Tlepecek HanckocoK. 


HW scroa6om nocTaBHa BOAY 
Bapyr cuapag. Tlontonsi— 5 pad. 
Tycro 61100 Tam Hapogy — 

alIHX CTPH2KeHBIX peoar.. 


VM ysugeaocb srepsuie, 

He sa6yqetTca oxo: 

Awoan Tenable, *XHBEIEe 

Iifau Ha AHO, Ha AHO, Ha AHO... 


Ilog ornem Hepa36epuxa — 
Tae cpon, rae KTO, rae CBA3b? 


TOAbKO BCKOpe Craao THXO,— 
Tlepenpasa copsaaacn. 


VW snokamecT Hen3BecrHo, 
KTo Tam poOkunit, KTo repo, 


45 


Now the first platoon is punting 
Through the shallows over there. 


And the rapids boom behind them. 
All around—the alien night; 

And they’re far beyond assistance, 
Out of earshot, out of sight. 


Black and jagged in the distance, 
Past the snowline’s chilly gleam, 
Looms the distant virgin forest 
High above the inky stream. 


Crossing over! Crossing over! 
Right bank towering ominously... 


Blood that night ran in the river 
And was carried down to sea. 


Sudden through the pitch-black darkness 
Blazed a searchlight’s spreading beam, 
Stabbing with a quivering finger 
Slantwise down across the stream. 


Then a shell. The water fountained. 
Pontoons jammed. No room to spare. 
Very tightly packed together 

Were the lads with close-cropped hair.... 


How could anyone forget it, 

Seeing helpless soldiers drown— 

Live, warm-blooded human beings 
Sinking down, and down, and down.... 


Pandemonium and chaos. 
Fritz lays on the heavy stuff... 


Then there comes an eerie silence, 
And the river crossing’s off. 


Who was brave and who was timid? 
Stull the answer is unknown. 


46 


Kro TaM lapeHsb pacuyJecublit, 
A HaBepHo, OBIA TakOH. 


Ilepenpasa, nepenpasa... 
Temenub, xoaog. Houb Kak rod. 


Ho syennaca B Oeper mpaBbin, 
Tam ocraaca nepsbi B3BO,. 


Vo Hem MoAuar pebata 
B 60eB0oM podgHoM Kpyry, 
CAOBHO 4eM-TO BHHOBATHI, 
Kro Ha AeBom Oepery. 


He BugaTb KOHa HOWETY. 
3a HOUb FpyfOl B3AAAC 
TlomoAaM CO AbAOM H CHErOM 
TlepememaHHan rpa3b. 


Vi ycraaaa c noxoda, 

Uro 6 Tam Hv 6bIAO,— KHBa, 
AjpeMAeT, CKOpYHBINHCh, Mexora, 
CyHyB pyKH B pyKaBa. 


L\PeMAeT, CKOPYMBIIHCh, WexoTa, 
VB aecy, B HOU rAyxoH 
CanoraMu maxHeT, n6ToM, 
Mep3aok xBoel m Maxpon. 


UyTko AbWwIHT Geper sTOT 
Bmecte c TeMH, 4TO Ha TOM 
Ilo4 o6ppipom *AyT paccBerTa, 
TpewT 3eMAl0 2KHBOTOM,— 

yT paccpeTa, *AyT NOAMOTH, 
ZlyXOM llafaTb He XOTAT. 


Houb npoxoaur, HeT Aoporu 
Hu Bnepeg 4 HM Ha3ad... 


A 6bITb MOKET, TAM C NOAHOUN 
Tlopomut cHexkOK HM B O4H, 
VW yxe 4aBHo 


47 


Did some soldier prove a hero? 
There was surely such a one! 


Crossing over! Crossing over! 
How long must this cold night last? 


On the right bank of the river, 
Number One Platoon—clings fast. 


And the soldiers on the near side 
Don’t speak of it any more, 

As if guilty for their comrades 
Stranded on the other shore. 


On and on the hours drag slowly. 

Will the cold night never pass? 

Ice and mud and snow are churned up 
Into one great dark morass. 


And the soldiers, footsore, weary, 

Duly thankful for their lives, 

Try to snatch some shut-eye, shivering, 
Hands tucked in their greatcoat sleeves. 


Shivering, fitfully they slumber, 
And the forest in the night 
Faintly smells of frozen pine-twigs, 
Boots, makhorka, human sweat. 


And the shore lies still, scarce breathing, 
Like those who, without a sound, 

Over there, praying for daylight, 
Flattened prone upon the ground, 

Wait for sunrise, wait for rescue, 

Will not let their spirits flag. 


Night drags on interminably, 
No way forward, no way back.... 


Or, perhaps, the snowflakes drifting, 
On the eyelids lightly sifting, 
Still lie sparkling there; 


48 


OH He TaeT B HX rAa3HHWax 
VW smaIAbUON ACEKUT Ha ANWax — 
MepTBHIM Bce paBHO. 


Cryxu, xOAo0aa He CABIMAT, 
CmepTb 3a CMeEpTbiO HE CTpalHa, 
XOTb euje maeK HM MHUWeT 
[leppow pots crapuuna. 


Crapwuna naek MM OMUeT, 
A m0 noyTe noaeBon 

He 6nictpeit uayt, He Tue 
IIucbMa cTapple 4omoi, 
Uro eme pe6ata camu 

Ha mpusaae npx orne 
T'ae-Hu6y4b B Aecy nMcaAM 
Alpyr y apyra ua cnune... 


V3 Pasanu, u3 Kasaun, 
3 Cu6upn, 43 Mockssr— 
Cnat 60h yh. 

Cnoe cka3aAn 

VW yxe naBek mpaBul. 


Vstrpepda, Kak KaMeHb, rpyda, 
Tae 3acThAW MX CAe ABI... 


MoxeT—Tak, a MOXKET — 4y 40? 
XotTb Obl 3HaK Kakoi OTTY Aa, 
HY 6eaa 6 3a noa6bean. 


AJOArM HON, 2KeCTKH 30pH 
B Hoa6pe—k 3ume cegoit. 


Asa Oona cuHaAT B Ao30pe 
Hag xoaoanow Bogor. 


To AM CHHTCA, TO AH MHHTCA, 
Tloxa3aaocb 4TO HEBECTS, 
To AM HHeH Ha pecHnyax, 
To AM BHpaBAy 4TO-TO ecTE? 


49 


Dusting, powdering cold faces, 
With their soft, unmelting traces— 
Dead men do not care. 


Death for them can hold no terrors, 
Frost and wind can scarce be missed, 
Though the Quartermaster Sergeant 
Keeps them on the rations list; 


Keeps them on the list for rations, 
And by post, the while, 

Neither Faster nor yet slower 
Posthumously goes the mail: 
Family letters that the writers, 
Borrowing one another’s backs, 
Scribbled somewhere in the forests 
Out on nightly bivouacs. 


Lads from far Siberia, Moscow, 
From Kazan and from Ryazan— 
Duty done, 

They sleep the eternal 

Sleep of just and honest men. 


And where death came swift upon them 
There’s a silent, frozen mound.... 


Or has good luck smiled upon them? 
Oh for just one signal from them 
That would give us peace of mind! 


Long the nights and harsh the dawnings 
In November. Winter’s close. 


Two men sit on sentry duty, 
Watching where the river flows. 


Is it fancy? Are they dreaming? 
Something’s moving—not quite clear.... 
Is it rime upon their eyelids, 

Or is something really there? 


50 


BuanAT— MaA€HbKanwA TOUKAa 
TlokagaAacb BAaAeKe: 

To am 4ypka, To au 6o4ka 
IIponanipaeT 10 pexe? 


— Het, we uypka u He G6oauxa— 
Iipocto raa3y Masta. 

— He maosely Av OAMHOUKa?- 

— Ilyrump, Opar. Boga He Ta! 

— Ala, Boga... TloMpicanTb cTpaurHo. 
Zjaxe ppri6am xoaogHa. 

— He n3 nauinx AM BYepalHHx 
TloagHaAACA Kako CO gaHa?.. 


O6a pa30M npHcmMupean. 

VW scka3aa ognH 6oen: 

— Hert, on BEINABIA 6HI B OLIMHeAH, 
C noaHOH BEIKAaAKOH, MepTBell. 


O6a 340poBo mpogporan, 
Kak 651 HM O6BLAO,— BrepBoH. 


Ilogomea cepxkaHT c 6HHOKAeM. 

II pHcmMoTpeaca: HeT, XHBOH. 

— Her, xusoi. be3 ramuactepxu. 
— A ne @pu? He k HaM an B TBIA? 
— Her. A moxert, 9To Tepkun? — 
Kro-ro po6xKo noulyTHa. 


— Croi, peOata, He copaTsca, 
TOAKy HET CllyCKaTb NOHTOH. 
— Paspemmute nonnitaTEca? 
— Uro mairatsca! 

— Bpatysi,—on! 


, y 3a6eperos Kopxy 

Aeasnylo o6A0mas, 

Ou kak on, Bacnanit Tepxuu, 
BctraA *xuBOK,— Ao6paaca BILAaBb. 


laaakni, roan, Kak “3 6aHn, 
Bctaa, wiaTaach TAKeAO. 


51 


Then they see it—just a pinpoint: 
Only driftwood, it might seem, 
Or perhaps an empty barrel 
Floating gently down the stream. 


“That’s no driftwood! That’s-no barrel!” 
And they strain their weary eyes. 
“Could it be somebody swimming?” 
‘What? You’re joking! In that ice?!” 
“Guess you're right. It’s cold enough to 
Freeze the gills off any fish.” 

‘Maybe one of ours has surfaced,” 

Said the first, uneasyish. 


And they instantly fell silent, 

Till the other sentry said, 

“He’d be in his coat and webbing 
If he was one of our dead.” 


And they got the creeps all over, 
Strange to this new face of death. 


Came the Sergeant with field glasses, 
Levelled them, and caught his breath. 
“He’s alive! Without his tunic.” 

“Fritz behind our lines, maybe?” 

“Or perhaps it’s Vasya Tyorkin!” 
Said some joker timidly. 


“Hold it, lads! Just keep away from 

That pontoon! The man can swim!” 
“Wont you let us have a go, Sarge?” 
“Have a go? What for!” 

“It’s him!” 


Up he rises from the water, 
Crashing through the icy crust, 
Large as life, Vassili Tyorkin— 
Yes, he’s made it—only just! 


Naked, as if from the bath-house. 
Only just this moment come. 


52 


Hu 3y6amu, Hu ryOamu 
He pa6oraet —cBeao. 


IloaxpaTuaAn, o6Bnx3aAn, 
fjaaw BaAeCHKH C HOFH. 
Ilpurposvau, 1pHKa3saan — 
Mokellb, HeT AnH, a Gern. 


Ilog ropo#, B mTa6HoH u36ymke, 
IlapHa ToT¥ac Ha KpoBaTb 
TloaowKMAM AAA TpocyuiKn, 
Craau ClMpToM pacTupats. 


PacTupaan, pacTupaan... 

Papyr OH MOABHT, KaK BO CHE: 
— AOKTOp, AOKTOP, a HEAB3A AM 
UsnyTpu norpetsca Mue, 

4YToO He Bce Ha KOMKYy TpaTHTb? 


Zjaau CTONKy — Hayaa %KUTb, 
IIpunoqHAACA Ha KpoBaTH: 

— Paspemute AOAOKNHTE... 
BsBog Ha mpapom Gepery 
JKUB-340pOB Ha3A0 Bpary! 
AeiTeHanT BCero AMIIb IpOcuT 
OronpKy Ty4a mog6pocuts. 


A yX CA€4OM 3a OrHeM 
BctraHem, HOrM pa3oMHeM. 
UTo Tam eCTb, Ile pekaAeuuM, 
Ilepenpasy o6ecneumm... 


AOAOmMMA 110 PopMe, CAOBHO -. 
Totuac MABITb eMy Ha3aJ. 


— Moaogey! —cka3aa NOAKOBHHK.— 
Moaogeu! Cnacu6o, 6par. 


Vc yani6xol0 HepobKoii 
Tospopnut Torga 6oeu: 

— A eje HeAb3A AM CTONKy, 
Tlotromy Kak MoAOogey? 


53 


Tries to speak, but nothing happens: 
Jaw and lips are frozen numb. 


So they wrapped him up and gave him 
Felt boots from a comrade’s feet. 


Threatened, ordered him, “Keep running, 
Even if you are dead beat!” 


At HQ, a sheltered cabin, 
Medics took the lad in charge, 
Laid him on a bed to dry him, 
Tried an alcohol massage. . 


And they rubbed him and they rubbed him, 
Till he murmured, sleepy-eyed, 

“Doctor, Doctor, won’t you let me 

Have some of that warmth inside? 

Please don’t waste it on my body!” 


So they poured him out a short, 
And it worked. Said he, half rising: 
“Beg permission to report: 

All is well with our platoon. 

Jerry will be sorry soon. 

Our Lieutenant says, send over 
Fire enough to give us cover. 


Following the last few crumps, 
We'll get up, we'll stir our stumps. 
Anything that’s there, we'll strafe, 
And the crossing will be safe.” 


He was strictly formal, as if 
Game to swim back there and then. 


“Well done, soldier!” said the Colonel. 
“Thanks! Well done!” said he again. 


With a grin by no means timid, 
Tyorkin said, “If that’s the case, 
then erhaps another snifter 
Won't be too much out of place?” 


54 


IlocMorpea MOAKOBHHK CTpoOro, 
Tlokocwaca Ha bona. 

— Moaogey, a 6ygeT MHOro— 
Cpa3y ape. 

— Tak ABa XK KOHUA... 


Ilepenpasa, nepenpasa! 
Ilyuiku 6bwT B KpOMeIHOH MIae. 


Bott ugetT caaToh u mpasniit. 
Cmeprunit Oo He pagM CAaBHI, 
Paavi 2KH3HH Ha 3eMAe. 


55 


Very much more than old-fashioned 
Was the look that Tyorkin got. 
“That’s too much, lad, 

Two drinks running.” 

“For two trips—a double shot!... ” 
Crossing over! Crossing over! 
Gunfire booming in the night. 


For mere fame and glory—never, 
But for life on earth forever 
Fight the just and holy fight! 


56 


O BOHHE 


— Paspemute AOAOKUTH 
Koporko u mpocto: 

A O0AbWIOH OXOTHHK 2KUTb 
AeT AO JeCBAHOCTA. 


A Boiina—mpo Bce sa6y qn 
VM sneuartp ne BIIpaBe. 
Co6upaaca B qaAbHuii ITB, 
Aan mpuxas: «Otcrasuts!» 


Ppanya rog, IpMmea 4epeg, 
bIHYe MbI B OTBETE 

3a Poccuw, 3a Hapog 

Vi s3a sce na cBetTe. 


Or Hsana go Momul, 
MepTBhle Ab, KHBBIE, 

Bce Mbl BMeCTe — 9TO MBI, 
Tot wapog, Poccua. 


Hs MOcKOABKy 3TO MHI, 
To ckaxky BaM, 6paTun, 


CONCERNING WAR 


Beg permission to report 

. That I’m much inclined to 
Reach a ripe old age—in short, 
Live until I’m ninety. 


Drop all that in time of war, 
Try not to regret it. 

Dreaming of long life in store? 
Orders are—forget it! 


Year of storm. The wheel has turned. 
Now we’re answerable 

For the people, for the land, 

All that’s good and noble. 


Each Ivan and each Foma, 
Live or dead, together 
In and of this land we are, 
Russia, now and ever. 


And, since that means you and me, 
Let me put it clearly, 


58 


Ham 3 STOM KyTepbMBI 
Hexyja m0faTeca. 


TyT ne CKaxKelllb: H—HE A, 
Huuero He 3Hal0, 

He gokaxKelllb, YTO TBOA 
Huinyue XaTa Cc kpab. 


He speank Te6e pacueT 
ZlyMaTb B OJMHOUKy. 
Bom6a—vuypa. [lonaget 
Caypy MpAMO B TOUKy. 


Ha poitue ce6a 3a6yab, 

TloMHM 4eCTb, OAHakKO, 

Paucb AO qeAa—Tpydb Ha rpydb, 
Ajpaka— 3HaunT, Apaka. 


VW npu3HatTb He Mpemuny, 
{jaM CBOW OLEHKy, 

TyT He TO, 4TO B CTapHHy,— 
CreHkKoW Ha CTeHKy. 


TyT He TO, 4TO Ha KyAak: 
TlorasguM, wen AloKe,— 
Al cxa3aa 6b gaKe Tak: 
TytT ropasqo xy«e... 


Hy, 4a 4TO O TOM CyAuTb,— 
AicHOo BCe AO TOUKH. 

Hago, 6patupi, Hemya OuTh, 
He gaBaTb OTCpOuKH. 


Pa3 BoHHa— po Bce 3a6yqb 
VMs nenatb He Biipase, 
Co6upaaca B AOATMH MyTb, 
Aan mpuKa3: «OTcTapntp!» 


CKOAbKO *KHA—Ha TOM KOHeL, 
Or xaonoT csao6ogeu. 

WU rorga THr— Tor 6boex, 

Uto gan 60a rogeu. 


59 


There’s no hidey-hole where we 
Can escape this mélée. 


No use saying, “I don’t know 
Anything about it. 

It’s your scrap, not mine, and so 
Y'll get by without it.” 


No use sitting on the fence, 

Quietly introspective. 

Bombs are stupid. They come down, 
Hit you irrespective. 


Do not think of self in war, 
Strive for honour in it, 

And, if there’s a fight in store, 
Fight it out and win it. 


But the time—I must be frank— 
Has been long since over 

When two armies, rank on rank, 
Marched against each other. 


No, war’s not a boxing match 
Just to see who’s tougher: 

I would even say this much: 
Nowadays it’s rougher. 


But, when all is said and done, 
No one would contest it: 
Brothers, we must beat the Hun 
Giving him no respite. 


Drop all else in time of war, 
Try not to regret it. 

Dreaming of long life in store? 
Orders are—forget it! 


Young or old, so what! You’re free 
From your former WOITIES, 

And a soldier you can be, 

Fit for active service. 


60 


VM nokgemb B oronb ajw6on, 
BaiNOAHHIIb gafauy. 

VW raaquuib— ene *nBOT 
by@elib cam B npufayy. 


A 3aCTMYHeT CMepTHBI 4ac, 
SuHaunHT, HOMEP BBIILeA. 

B pudmy uro-Hu6yab upo Hac 
Tiocae Hac Hanuulyt. 


IlycTb NpuHBpyT xoTb BO CTO Kpar, 
MBI K TOMY TOTOBHI, 

Aub 651 4eTH, TOBOpAT, 

Baran 6b 340poshl... 


61 


Under heavy fire, be brave, 
Carry out your mission, 

And if you come out alive, 
Well, you’ve earned remission! 


If death strikes you down in time, 
Then it’s up, your number. 

They will write of us in rhyme 
When we're six feet under. 


Let them burble as they will; 
Still they can’t upset us, 

If our kids are fit and well, 

Then that’s all that matters. 


62 


TEPKHH PAHEH 


Ha MOrMAbl, PBbI, KaHaBHI, 
Ha KAyOKH KOAIOUKH prKaBoH, 
Ha n0AA, XOAMBI— AbIPABOH, 
V3ypeaeHHon 3eMAn, 

Ha 60A0THHIM AeC KOpABBIN, 
Ha kycThi— cHera Aeran. 


VU rycro no3semKon 6eaok 
BeTep moae 3aBOAOK. 
Bwra 8 Tpy6ax o6ropeanx 
Saryaeaa y Aopor. 


VM 8B cHerax HeIpOxOAHMBIX 
OTH MHpHbie Kpaw 

B sTy NaMATHYIO 3MMy 
Opyd4vHHbIM 1aXxAM JbIMOM, 
He AWACKHM AbIMKOM JKHABA. 


VU 8B Aecax, Ha MEp3AoH rpyde, 
Ilo 3emMAnHKaM 6e3 OrHeH, 
Bo3Ae TaHKOB MH Opy4Hit 

VI npoctyxeHHbIxX KOHeH 


TYORKIN WOUNDED 


On the mounds of graves, on ditches, 
On half-rusted barbed-wire stretches, 
On the hills, on open patches 

Of the mangled countryside, 

In the marshy woods, on bushes— 
See the snows of wintertide. 


And the ground-wind swathes the meadows 
In a white, impervious shroud; 

Blizzards boom in gutted chimneys 

Down along the empty road. 


Locked in snowdrifts quite impassable, 
These once quiet and peacciuldands 

All this winter unforgettable 

Reeked of smoke from guns innumerable, 
Not of smoke from ingle brands. 


And in dug-outs with no heating, 

In the woods, on icy snows, 

By their tanks and field-guns waiting 
While the patient horses froze, 


64 


Ha Botue scTpeuaan Ai0qu 
Ajoarnit cyeT HOUeH MU AHeH. 


VW sanxon, HelmjaqHOon cTyYKU 
He 6paHHau, Kak HH 3,a: 
Aub 651 HeMUy OBIAO xyxe, 
O ce6e am peub Tam maa! 


VW xeaaa Hau Ao6ppr mapens: 
Ilycrb noMep3HeT HeMel-OapHH, 
Hemew-6apHn He NpHBBEIK, 
Pyccknit crepnuT—OH MYyKHK. 


IilyMHBIM XAONIOM PyKaBHUHbIM, 
TonotHei no yeanuHe 
Cnosapanky JeHb o6bHblii 
HaunHaacsh Ha BOHMHE. 


UyTb BHACA AbIMOK HECMEABIN, 
OxxnBaa KOCTep C Tpy4oM, 

B saxontTeabii 6ak rpemeaa 
V3 pegpa Boga CO ABAOM. 


YTOMACHHbIE HOUAETOM, 

Ian Gots u3 Bcex Gepaor 
[petnca 6eroM, MBITbCA CHeroM, 
CHeroM )KeCTKHM, KaK M€coK. 


A MlOTOM—TryCbKOM I10 CTexke, 
Co6aw aan CcBOoH aeped, 

Koteaku 3a6paB HW AOMKH, =~ 

K KYXHAM DI€A 3a B3BOAOM B3BOJ. 


Cyn gocnira, wat Ao 10Ta,— 
M3Hb KaK )KM3Hb. 

H onatp sottna— pa6ora: 

— Cranosucp! 


* * * 


Bcaea 3a poToi Ha onyuiKy 
TepkKHH ABHKeETCA C KaTyUIKOH, 


65 


Soldiers learnt the tedious wartime 
Count of endless nights and days. 


Yet the cold, however evil, 

None of them saw fit to curse, 
ust as long as Fritz was finding 
hings considerably worse. 


For the lads were thinking: please, 
Let the German lordling freeze. 
Fritz won't find it very pleasant, 
Ours can take it—he’s a peasant. 


Army mittens loudly slapping, 
Tramp of boots on fallow ground— 
Every routine day in wartime 
Started with those early sounds. 


Lazy whisps of smoke upcurling, 
Flames fanned up from embers pale.... 
Into sooty cauldron tumbled 

Ice and water from the pail. 


Underslept and tired, the soldiers 

Crawl from lairs on every hand, 

Run for warmth, and wash themselves in 
Snow as harsh and dry as sand. 


Then they file along the footpath 
In strict order, taking turns, 
Spoons and mess-tins at the ready, 
For the kitchens, by platoons. 


Full of soup, with hot tea sweating— 
War or no war, men must eat. 

Then it’s back to routine duties— 
“On your feet!” 


* * * 


Following his unit, Tyorkin 
With a drum of wire is working, 


66 


PasBopa4uuBaeT CHaCcTb,— 
II puKa3saan Je€AaTb CBA3b. 


PoTa roAOBBI NpHrHyAa- 

Cuer 4epHeeT OT OFHA. . 
Tepkuu Kpytut:— Tyaa, Tyaa! 
Tyaa, CABINIMUIb TH MeHA? 


Tloqmurnys 60am yKpagKon: 
Moa, y Hac Aa He NOKAeT,— 
Zlynya B Tpy6Ky 4Aa NopsadKy, 
KomanHanpy nogaer. 


Komanaupy Bce B NpHBEIKy,— 
Toaoc B ropcTouky, KaK CIIM4Ky 
Tpy6xy KHM3y, Aer GouKoM, 
Yro6 no3semkonw He 3aAyao. 

Bce B nopsaxe. 

— Tyaa, Tyaa, 

Tlomornte OrOHBKOM... 


He -pacckaxKelllb, H€ OMMIMEIIb, 
UtTo 3a *KH3Hb, Korga B 6010 
3a 4yKHM OFHEM paccAbIDIMIb 
ApTHAAEpHo CBOD. 


Bo3ayX KpyTO 3aBHBag, 
C Hegaaekow orneson 
AxHeT, aXHET NOAKOBAA, 
SamoeT Hag FOAOBOH. 


A C NO3HUHH OTAaAeCHHBIX, 
Cpasy 6yq4To Oni He B Aad, 
YXHeT BAPyl AMBH3KHOHHOH 
Ao6pou Matyuiku CHapsg. 


U noget, novAet Ha CAaBy, 

Kak “43 ropHa, *apoM AyTp, 

C BoeM, C BH3IFOM UIeNeAABBIM 
PacunujaTb MexoTe NyTB, 

BHTb, AOMaTb H %K€Ub B OKPYXKKy. 


Alepesynixa? — JJepesyuiny. 


67 


In accordance with instructions 
Laying down communications. 


All the Company keep their heads down. 
Black the snow with enemy fire. 

Tyorkin cranks the handle: “Tula, 

Tula, Tula, are you there?” 


He winks slyly at his comrades: 
“Thought you said it wouldn’t go!” 
Blows discreetly down the mouthpiece, 
Passes it to the CO. 


And the CO, practised, calm, 
Cups his voice inside his palm, 
Like a match, lies low for cover, 
Back turned to the icy breeze. 
Yes, it’s working! 

“Tula, please, 

Send a bit of barrage over!” 


There’s no telling, no describing 
What it feels like when you hear 
Your own guns above the enemy’s, 
Thundering, booming in the rear. 


From the regimental gun lines 

Not so very far away, 

Shells come whizzing steeply upwards, 
Sighing, singing on their way. 


From the grand old parent unit, 
Out of tune with all the rest, 
Comes a whoosh! as the Division 
Sends one over of the best. 


On to glory it goes sailing, 

On, to breathe its flames of wrath, 
Howling, keening, whining, wailing, 
Clearing for the troops a path, 

All around it smashing, burning, 
Villages to rubble turning, 


68 


Jjom—tak 4gom. baungax — 6anHgax. 
Bpellb, He BRICHAMLIb— OT Aap! 


A euje OCTaACA KTO TaM, 
SanopouieHHbI MecKOM? 
Tlorogu, BcTaeT mexora, - 
{jai AoctaTb Te6A WITHIKOM. 


Bcaeg 34 pOTOW CTpeAKOBOH 
Tepkun AaAblle THHET NPOBOd. 
B3B04— 3a BaAOM OFHEBBbIM, 
TepkuH C xody —BCAed 3a B3BO{4OM, 
TonuT NpoBod, TOUHO B BOY, 
JKUB-340POB WH HEBPeAMM. 


Bapyr 3 KYCTHKOB KOpABBIX, 
B3pbiTbIx, BCMaXaHHbIX KpyroM,— 
Uox!—cHapsd 3a BCIBILKOM pxKaBoHn. 
TepkHH TOTYaC B CHer — HH4YKOM. 


Baaaca pray6p, AexUT—He ABIIIHT, 
Cam He 3HaeT: 2%KHB, yOuT? 

Bcett CaMHOH, BCel KOKeH CABILINT, 
Kak cHapaxg B CHery UIHMMT... 


XBOCT OBeuwnK — cepgue ObeTca. 
PaccTaeTca C TeAOM AyXx. 

«YTO & OH, YEPT, ACKUT—HE PBETCA, 
dKaaTb MHEe GoAbUIe HEAOCyT». 


IIT punogHAACA —TAAHYA KOCO. 
Ox mouTH y CaMbBIX HOT — 
Taaakui, Kpyrabii, TYMOHOCHIN, 
VW Haq HAM— CbIPOH ABIMOK. 


Ckoabko 6 Ay pBaHyA Ha BbIOpOC 
BoT TakoH Aypak caeno 
HeussectHoro Kaan6pa— 

C nopocenka Ha yOoi. 


OraAaHYyACA BOpOBATO, 
Tloqupuaca —cmex w rpex: 


69 


Hamlet, house, or parapet... 
Useless—you'll surrender yet! 


Is there someone lying low there, 
Covered by a shower of grit? 
Wait until our lads with Payonets 
Come and get you out of it! 


And the men go into action 
With the barrage for protection, 
Tyorkin bringing up behind; 
Seemingly inviolable, 

Carefully unreeling cable, 

As a fisherman his line. 


Rusty flash among the bushes 
On the shell-torn, pitted ground, 
And a shell lands with a wallop. 
Tyorkin hits the snow face down, 


Burrows deep and lies, scarce breathing. 
Still alive? He doesn’t know. 

Gooseflesh at the sound of something 
Hissing near him in the snow. 


Craven panic. Heart thumps wildly. 
Soul and flesh part company. 

‘Won't the blasted thing go off, then? 
Can’t lie here all day,” thinks he. 


Half-erect, he twists his head round. 
Yes—just by his feet—it’s there! 

Round and smooth and snubby-snouted, 
Smoking damply in the air. 


Many souls could be sent packing 
By that blind and stupid beast 
Of the calibre uncertain, 

Like a piglet for a feast. 


Tyorkin warily looks round him, 
Bursts out laughing. What d’you know! 


70 


Bce KpyroM AexaT pe6ata, 
3akonaBLIMCb HOCOM B CHer. 


TepkKuu BCTaA, TaKOK AM yxapb, 
OTpaAXxHyACA, IPHHAA BHA: 

— XBaTHT, XAOMLbI, 3EMAIO HIOXAaTb, 
He rogutTca,— ropopnt. 


Cam CTOHT C BOpOHKOM pxAgOM 
Wey xaonyes Ha BHAy, 
O6paTsacb K TOMy CHapady, 
CrnpaBHaA MaAylo HyXKJy... 


Bugnt Tepxun norpe6ymky — 
He ottyga Ab nywika 6ber? 
Ilepegaa 60am KaTyUIKy: 

— Br—snepeg. A A—B o6xo4. 


C xogy ABHHYA B ABepb rpanaTon. 
CnpsirHyA BHH3, Mpomaa B AbIMy. 
— Oguyeps u coaaaTH, 

BuixoaH no ofHomy!.. 


Tummuna. Tloaocka cperta. 
UtTo Tam AaAbule — NOTAAAMM. 
Hyxkoro, moxoxe, HeTy. 
Huxoro. VM a oguu. 


Ty pa3ppiBos, CAOBHO B Godke, 
AaeTca B ray6uue. 

Zjeao ApAHB: ApyrHe TOUKH 

bpwrT no 3ansTonw. Ilo mue. 


BbioT HETNAOXO, Copy HeTYy. 
Zjo6prmm CcAOBOM NOMAHHK 
XoTb 3a TO, 4TO Norpe6 sToT 
I[pouHo czeaaan onu. 


IIpouno cgzeaaan, HagqexKHO— 
TyT He TO 4TO BOeBAT, 

TytT, pe6ata, aii MMT MOXKHO, 
Crenrasety BbITycKaTb. 


71 


All the lads are lyin round him 
With their faces in the snow. 


wh gets Tyorkin, dusts the snow off 
ith a most superior air. 

‘No use grovelling on the ground, lads, 
That won't get you anywhere.” 


There he stands beside a‘crater 

And, in full view of them all, 

Turns towards the shell close by him, 
And obeys a natural call... 


Tyorkin spots a kind of cellar: 

That’s the gun-site there, maybe. 

Gives his mates the coil. “Keep moving, 
While I double round,” says he. 


Then he lobs one through the doorway. 
Smoke and dust hide him from yiew. 
“German officers and rankers, 

Come out singly, all of you!” 


Silence. Strip of light below there. 
Better look inside and see. 

Not a sign of anybody. 

Not a soul in here. Just me. 


Then the cellar, like a barrel, 
Booms, reverberates within. 
This is bad. One gun-site taken, 
Now there’s others ranging in.... 


Bang on target! Must admit it— 
Give Fritz credit where it’s due— 
When he built this place, he made it 
To withstand a thing or two. 


Yes, he built it good and solid, 
Not for fighting in at all. 

You could organise a buffet, 
Run off news-sheets for the wall. 


72 


OcMOTpeaca, TOUHO B xaTe: 
Tleuka Temaaa B yray, 
Baoab CTeHbI HAYT NOAaTH, 
baHku, CKAAHKM Ha MOAy. 


HenpuBsrynbii, HeNOxoKUuH 
Llyx OOAMTOFO HKUADA: 
Ta6aky, O4e%KM, KOK 
Vs coagatcKoro 6eaba. 


Cuopa cyHytca? Hy 4To xe, 
B o6o0ponue HEIHGe — 8... 

Ha npuyeae BxO0J UM BBIXO4, 
Zjpe rpanaTei nog pyKon. 


CmMOAK oroub. M craao THxO. 
YW uayT—oann, Apyrow... 


Tepxun, crow. Api posuee. 
Tepkun, 6auxe NOANycru. 
Tepknu, weanca. bet Bepuee, 
Tepkuu. Cepgue, He uactTu. 


Paccka3aTb Onl Bam, pe6ata, 
XOTb HE BEpb [Aa3aM CBOMM, 
Kak HeMeljKoro CoAgaTa 

B aByX Wlarax BHUAaA *KUBBIM. 


Tloaxoqgua OH B 4eM-TO Geom, 
HakAOHUBIIMCh OT OFHA, 

VM kak 6yaATo geao Aeaaa: 
lea Ko MHe — yOuTb MeHA. 


B STOT pOBMK, TOUHO C NedkH, 
Craa CiycKaTbCA Ha 3a4y... 


TepkuH, Apyr, He Aa oceuKn. 
IIlponagem>,— uMeli B BHAY. 


3a CeKyHAy JO pa3ppisa, 

3HaTh, XOTEA MOgaTb MIpuMep: 
IIpamo B pOBHK CIIpbrHyA 2KHBO 
B noaymy6Ke opuyep. 


73 


Cosy as a country cottage, 

Corner stove still warm, what’s more; 
Bunks along the wall for sleeping, 
Jars and bottles on the floor. 


Never seen a dug-out like it; 
Smells so warm and lived-in here.... 
Piles of clothes, tobacco, leather, 
Army issue underwear... 


Will they sneak back in? All right, then, 
I’m the one in charge this time. 
Tommy-gun aimed at the doorway, 
Two grenades to hand, both primed... 


No more shelling. Sudden silence. 
Here’s the first ... one more behind... 


Tyorkin, steady. Take it easy. 
Tyorkin, wait—don’t fire in haste. 
Tyorkin, aim. Don’t miss the target, 
Tyorkin. Heart, don’t beat so fast. 


I could scarce believe my eyes, lads, 
But it happened, true enough: 
There I saw a German soldier 
Large as life two paces off! 


Wearing something white, and charging 
Under fire with lowered head— 
Evidently meaning business— 

In a word—to shoot me dead. 


As from off the stove in winter, 
Down he slid on his behind.... 


Tyorkin, chum, you mustn’t miss him, 
Else you’re sunk—bear that in mind. 


Just before the bang resounded— 
Showing leadership, that’s clear, 
Down into the ditch there bounded, 
Sheepskin-clad, an officer. 


74 


VW snoguaaca He3aZerThii, 
Lleapypm. 7K AeM 3a KOCAKOM. 
Oguyep — 43 MMCTOAETA, 
TepkHH— B MATKO€ — IITHIKOM. 


Cam lpwHcea, IpHceA THXOHBKO. 
Ilopeao ero Ae€rOHbKO. 

Tponya mpapoe maeuo. 

Panen. Moxpo. Topauo. 


VM pykoi KOCcHyACH m0Aa: 
Kposb,— 4yKaa HAb CBOA? 


Tyt Kak 4acT BOAW3H TADKEABIH, 
AX NOABUHYAACh 3eMAs! 


Bcaeg 3a HUM Apyronw yAapHa, 
VU Temuee craao BApyr. 


«OTO— HalliM,— NOHAA NapeHb,— 
Haru 6p10T,— Tellepb Kal0k». 


OrayWieHHBIM TAXKKUM TyAOM, 
TepkiH HHKHET roAOBOH. 
Tyaa, Tyaa, uTo « TH, Tyaa, 
TyT xe cBaoH Ooel] *KHBOM. 


OH CHANT 3a CTEHKOM A30TA, 
Kposb Tevet, pykaB HaOpak. 
Tyaa, Tyaa, Heoxota 
IlomupaTb emy BOT Tax. 


Ha nmoay B XOAO4HOH AMe 
Heoxota HuTO"UeM 

Tu6HyTb C MOKpBIMM HOraMH, 
Co cBOuM OCABHBIM MAeC4UOM. 


PKaAKO 2%KH3HH TOK, IPHMaHKH, 
MaaocTh xOU¥eTCA TOKHTh, 
XOTb MOrpeTECA Ha Ae@2KaHKe, 
XOTb NOPTAHKH MpocyuintTe... 


75 


Quite unscathed, up leapt the German. 
Dodge behind the door and wait! 

As the other fired his pistol, 

Tyorkin used his bayonet, 


And he sank, sank very slowly, 
Sitting down somewhat askew, 

And he felt his right-hand shoulder. 
Wounded. Warm. And sticky, too. 


Then he touched the ground beside him. 
Blood. But whose blood? Goodness knows! 


Then a heavy shell exploded, 
And the earth shook. That was close! 


Then a second heavy landed. 
All went darker than before. 


“Our artillery,” thought Tyorkin. 
“Now you've had it, mate, for sure!” 


Deafened by the racket, Tyorkin 

Bows his head in sheer despair. 

Tula, Tula, why d’you do it, 

When there’s one of yours down here? 


On the dug-out floor he huddles, 
Arm limp, bleeding steadily. 
Tula, Tula, calling Tula, 

This is not a way to die. 


Shivering in this blighted hell-hole, 
What a useless way to go, 

With a badly wounded shoulder, 

And with both your feet wet through. 


Leaving this sweet life so early, 
When you'd like a bit more time, 
ust to dry out on the stove-shelf, 
rape your puttees* on the line. 
* Probably the nearest equivalent to the portyanki or 
footcloths which the Russian soldiers wound round 


their feet and ankles in lieu of socks. They were war- 
mer and more practical in Russian winter conditions.— Tr. 


76 


Tepku CHK. Tocka COrHyAa. 
Tyaa, Tyaa... Uro « Thi, Tyaa? 
Tyaa, Tyaa. DSTO « 4... 

Tyaa... Poguna Moa!.. 


* * * 


A TeM 4acoM Mu34aAeka, 

Tayxo, KaK M3-l104 3eMAH, 
POBHBIM, APyKHbIM, TAXKKMA POKOT 
Hagpuraaca, poc. C poctoxa 
TaHkKu WARK. 


Hus3korpy abit, MAOCKOAOHHEIN, 
OTAryeHHbIM cam cobon, 

C nywKou, B AylWy HaBegeHHoH, 
Crpamen TaHK, udyumui B Oo. 


A 3a rpoxoToM HM rpomomM, 
3a 6poHel cTaAbHOM CHAAT, 
Ilo MecTaM CHAAT, KaK Joma, 
Tpoe-yeTBepoO 3HaKOMBIX 
Hamimx cTpwxKennix pedar. 


VW nycxait B Gow Biepsrie, 
Ho pe6ata— cer npokan. 
AOBAT B UeAH CMOTPOBBIe 
KpoMky NOAA Briepean. 


Bugat— B3qni6uaca pa3z6uTHi, 
Pa3BOpOueHHbIN HakaT. 
Kpenxo Onto. [jean HaKpbiTa. 
Hy, a BApyr Kak Tam cugatT! 


Moxert 6nITb, NpHTHX AO CpoKa 
Y OpydauHA pacuer? 

Pa3BepHiCcb MallnHa 60K0oM— 
Bpone6oiHbIM Mpunever. 


Wau Hemel C aBTOMAaTOM, 
Ae3Tb Hapyxy He Aypak, 

TaM CA€4MT 3a HalHM OpaTom, 
BarxugaetT. Kak He Tak 


77 


Tyorkin hangs his head, despairing. 
Tula, what’s come over you? 
Tula, Tula, Tyorkin calling... 
Tula.... Hometown, where are you? 


Meanwhile, with a distant growling, 
Muffled, as if underground, 

With a steady, thunderous rolling 
From the East the tanks came crawling 
Westward bound. 


Squat, flat-chested and flat-bottomed, 
Into battle rolls the tank, 

Terrible to see—its cannon 

Aiming at your soul point-blank. 


And, behind the armour plating 

And the din, quite snug in there, 

You might see them in their places, 
You might recognise their faces— 
Three or four with close-cropped hair. 


Though it’s their first taste of action, 
They’re not worried—not-:a bit, 
Scanning the terrain before them 
Through the narrow viewing slit. 


And they see the shattered roof-beams 
Sticking up into the air. 

Knocked for six. Objective dealt with. 
Any signs of life down there? 


Is the gun-crew simply shamming, 

Lying doggo for a spell? 

Don’t swing sideways—they could slam us 
With an armour-piercing shell. 


Maybe with a sub-machine gun 
Fritz is down there, lying low, 
Following our movements, waiting 
For the moment.... Who’s to know? 


78 


{\Boe BCAe€gZ 3a KOMAHAH POM 
Buu3—c rpaHaToH — BAOAb CTeHHI. 
TuuuHa.— Yrabl TeEMHBEI... 


.— Xaonybl, 34HATa KBapTUpa,— 
CapiuaT BApyr 43 ray6HuHE. 

He o6manH, He BpaxKbH DIYTKH, 
Toaoc BipaBAallHbiM, poAHoH: 
— Yloco6ute. Bot yx cyTKu 
Touka 4aHHan 3a MHOM... 


B TeMHOTE, B yrAy KaMOpKH, 

Ha noay 6oen B KpoBH. 

Kro taxoi? Ho cmoaknyA Tepxuu, 
Kak TaM XO4ElIb, Tak 3OBH. 


OH AG@KHT C AMIJOM 3EMAHCTHIM, 
He MOprHeT, XOTb rAa3 KOAH. ° 
B ‘caMuit CpOK ero TaHKMCTBI 
Tlogo6paan, mope3an. 


UAa MaliMHa B CHEXHOM AbIMKe, 
Exaa Tepknu 6e3 gopor. 

VU Aepxaa ero B OOHHMKYy 
Xaoner — 6amienHp Crpeaok. 


YKpbIBaA CBOeH OAeKON, 

Tpea apixaHbem. He 6e,a, 
uro B TAa3a ero, ObITh MOXKET, 
He ysuguT HHKOr AA... 


CBeT npoHan,— Hue HE CHILIIeLIb, 
He cay4aAocb BHAeCTbh MHE 
ApyxOpn TOW CBATeH u 4H, 

Yro OnipaeT Ha BOHHe. 


79 


Two men follow their commander 
With grenades along the wall. 
Dark inside. No sound at all. 


“Sorry, lads, this flat’s been taken,” 
Someone there is heard to call. 
That’s no trick or hanky-panky. 

But a real live Russian voice. 

“I’ve held out a day and night here. 
Come on, lend a hand, you boys!” 


In the darkness in the corner 
Lies a soldier drenched in blood. 
Who is he? He doesn’t answer. 
Useless trying—it’s no good. 


Ashen-faced, he lies unmoving, 
Doesn’t even blink an eye. 

In the nick of time they found him, 
Hauled him in, drove him away. 


Through a mist of snow they travelled, 
Not a sign of roads or farms. 

One of them, the turret-gunner, 
Cradled Tyorkin in his arms. 


Draped his sheepskin round him, warmed him 
With his breath, and felt no pain 

At the thought of never setting 

Eyes upon this man again.... 


I could search the wide world over 
All my living days, before 

I would see a thing more holy 
Than the comradeship of war. 


80 


O HATPAJE 


— Het, peOata, a ne ropabi. 
He 3aragbiBbaA BAaAb, 

Tak cKaky: 344€M MHE OpdeH? 
Hl coraaceH Ha MedaAb. 


Ha Megaab. V1 To ne kK cnexy. 
Bot 3aKoH4MAM 6 Body, 

Bort 61 B OTMYCK A WpHexaa 
Ha pogyylo cTopouy. 


Bbyay Ab 2»xuB euye! —E,pa an. 
yT BOWH, a HE raga. 

Ho ckamy HacueT Mefaau: 

Mue ee Torga nogai. 


O6ecnieub, pa3 A AOCTOHH. 
Vs nouATS BbI BCe AOAKHBI: 
fleao camoe mpocroe — 

Yeaonek NpHuleA C BOHHEI. 


Bot npmmea # C MOAyCTaHKa 
B cBow pogHMbIi CeABCOBET. 


ON MILITARY DECORATIONS 


No, lads, I’m not that conceited: 
Without looking far ahead, 

I'd say, why give me an Order, 
When a gong would do instead? 


Yes, a gong. All in good time, though. 
Wait until the war’s been won. 

Wait till I return on furlough 

To the place where I was born. 


Shall I live to see it? Hardly. 
ee don’t guess in time of war. 
Still, I wouldn’t mind that medal, 
Afterwards, if not before. 


Pin it on me if I’ve earned it. 
Try to understand my point: 

Me, I’m just another soldier 
Home from fighting at the front. 


From the railway halt I’ve walked it 
To my local Soviet hall. 


82 


Al mpuuiea, a TYT ryAAHKa. 
Her ryasuKn? Aaguo, HeT. 


A B Apyrow KOAXO3 WH B TpeTHH — 
Bca okpyra Ha Buy. 

Tye-HubyAb # B CEABCOBeTE 

Ha ryaauky onaay. 


V1, ABHBIIMCh Ha BeYepKy, 
XOTb He ropAblH FEAOBEK, 
Al 6 He cTaA KypHTb Maxopky, 
A goctaa On a «Ka36ek». 


Vs cugea 6n1 4, peOsata, 

Tam Kak pa3, Apy3bx MOM, 

[ye MaAbljOM 04 AaBKy NpATaA 
Horn Gochie cBon. 


VW sapimna On nanmupocon, 
Yromanr Ont BCex BOKpyr. 
V1 wa BCAKHE BOIDpOCH 

Orsegaa Onl A HE Bapyr. 


— Kak, Moa, 4To? — burpaao BCAKO. 
— Tpyaxo sce xe? — Kak xorga. 
— Mnuoro pa3 xoqua B aTaky? 

— Ala, caydaaocb wHOr Aa. 


VW aAeBdouKH Ha BedepKe 
Tlosa6n1au 6 Bcex cba 
ToaAbKO CAymaAH 6 AeBYOHKH, 
Kak peMHH Ha MHE CKpHNAT. 


VW swytTHa 6b A co BceMu, 

Vi 6Ontaa 6 Mex HHX OHA... 

HM Meaaab Ha 9TO Bpema 
Mue, Apy3ba, BOT Tak HyKHa! 


MKaeT ACBYOHKA, XOTb HE My4ais, 
CaosBa, B3rAAdAa TBOELO... 


83 


There should be a dance this evening... 
No? Well, I don’t mind at all. 


One kolkhoz and then another, 
Round the countryside I go. 
There must be a social evening 
Going on somewhere, | know. 


And, arriving at the party, 

Though not proud, as I’ve just said, 
I would never smoke makhorka, 

I'd produce Kazbeks* instead. 


And I'd sit myself right down, lads, 
There upon the very seat 

Under which a little urchin 

Used to dangle two bare feet. 


And I'd puff away, and offer 
Cigarettes to all nearby. 

And to all the many questions 
With an air I would reply. 


ust how was it?” “Very varied.” 
“Was it tough, then?” “Well, so so.” 
“Did you charge the Germans often?” 
“Yes, we sometimes had a go.” 


And the young girls at the party 
Would forget the other boys, 
Thrilled to hear my straps of leather 
Creaking with a gallant noise. 


And I'd joke with all and sundry; 
But there’d be one in that throng... 
And at such a moment, fellers, 

I'd be grateful for that gong! 


She’d sit fascinated, hanging 
On to every word of mine.... 


* High-quality Russian cigarettcs.— Tr. 


84 


— Ho, no3Boab, Ha STOT CAydai 
OpjeH Toxe HHYeTO? 


Bot cuAuMmb TH Ha BeyepKe, 
WM aepyounKa—cambulii UBeT. 


— Het,—cxasaa Bacuanii Tepxun 
Vi pagoxuya. VW cuosa: — Her. 
Het, pe6ata. Uro Tam open. 

He 3araqnipaa Baan, 

A %& CKa3aA, 4TO A He TopsLit, 

HA coraaceH Ha MegaaAb. 


* ok 


Tepxun, Tepxun, AoOppiit maaniit, 
YTO TyT cMex, a YTO Meuaab. 
Garagqaa TH, Apyr, HeMaao, 
SaragaA AaAeCKO BAaAb. 


BBIAM AMCTbA, CTaAM T1OUKH, 
Tlouku cTaAW BHOBb AHCTBOH. 

A He HOCHT Mucem Houta 

B kpal poaHoit cmoAencknii TBOM. 


Tae AeB4OHKH, rae BeqepKH? 
Tage poaMMblii ceAbcoser: 
3Haewb cam, Bacnanuit Tepkuy, 
Uro tyAa Aoporn uer. 


Het yoporn, HeTy lpaBa 
Tlo6nipaTb B pOAHOM ceae. 


CrpamHpmi Go user, KPOBaBbIit, 
Cmeptuiiii Goi He pada CAaBBI, 
Paav *KM3HH Ha 3eMAe. 


85 


“And you mean to say an Order 
Wouldn't help at such a time? 


There you're sitting at the party, 
And she’s quite a peach, you know....” 


“No,” replied Vassili Tyorkin, 
Sighed, and then repeated, “No. 
No, lads. No need for an Order. 
Let’s not look too far ahead. 

I’m not proud, as I’ve just told you, 
And a gong would do instead.” 


Tyorkin, Tyorkin, decent fellow, 
e could laugh and we could cry, 

For you've looked into the future 

Farther. than a man should try. 


Leaves there were, and then the buds came, 
And the buds grew leaves in turn; 

Still no letters to the village 

Near Smolensk, where you were born. 


Where are all the girls, the parties, 
Where’s the rural Soviet too: 

You know well, Vassili Tyorkin, 
There’s no going back for you. 


There is no returning for you 
To the village of your birth. 


Fight the battle grim and gory, 
Not for fame and not for glory, 
But for life upon this Earth. 


86 


TAPMOHb 


Ilo gopore npuppontoson, 
3anoxcaH, Kak B CTpON, 

len 60eu, B WIMHEAM HOBOH, 
ZjoronAA CBOW MOAK CTPeAKOBBIN, 
Poty NepByl0 CBOW. 


Iea AerKo u Aaxe 6paso 
Ilo npwunne No Taxon, 
UToO Maxaa CBOelO 1paBoH, 
Kak MW A€BOIO pyKOH. 


Otaenaaca. /Ja K ToMy 2Ke 
IlJeakaa 10 Aecy MOpoO3, 
SaljeMAHA B TyTH BCe Tye, 
TlogroHvAA, 104 MbIWIKH HEC. 


Bapyl! —CurHaa 3a NOBOpOToOM, 
Apepuy Bel6pocna modep, 
TopMo3nt: 

— Cagncp, riexota, 
IJexu cHerom 6bI HaTep. 


THE ACCORDION 


Down a road, in brand-new greatcoat, 
Somewhere near the front-line zone, 
As if for inspection belted, 

Goes a lad to join his unit, 

Rifle Company Number One. 


Goes he cheerly, goes he blithely, 
And the reason is quite plain: 
Healed, his right arm swings as freely 
As his left arm once again. 


And, what’s more, the frost is crackling 
In the trees beside the road, 

Stinging harder and yet harder, 
Spurring onward like a goad. 


Suddenly, a toot behind him. 
Leaning out, the driver brakes; 
Holds the door: 

“Quick, hop in, soldier. 
Get some snow and rub your cheeks. 


88 


JlaAeKO Ab? 

— Ha pont o6parno. 
PyRy BBIACUHA. 

— llonaruo. 

He repon? 

— I{oxamecr Her. 

— JfocTapak Torga kuceT. 


Kypat, eayr. [po6— aopora. 

eK Cyrpo6amu — TYHHEAB. 
UyTb AM 4TO, CBEPHEMIb HEMHOIO, 
Kak CBepHyA— CHHMali WIMHEeAb. 


— Xopouio— Kak €CTb Aomata. 
— Xopouio, a To 6eaa. 

— Xopomo—cson pebsta. 

— Xopouo, 4a Kak kKor4a. 


I'py30Buk TpeMMT TpexTOHHbIi, 
Bapyr KOAOHHa Brepedn. 

by4b TH MewiMH HAM KOHHBI, 
A Cc MalliMHouw— CTO HW KH. 


C TOAKOM NOAB3yHCA CTOAHKON. 
Pasropop — He pa3roBop. 
Hakaonnaca Hag 6apaHKoi,— 
CmMoak wodgep, 

Sacuya mogep. 


CKOABKO CYTOK MOAYCOHHEIX, 
CKOAbKO BepcT B Hypre caenoi 
Ha Aoporax 3aHeceHHBIXx 

Ou ocTaBHa 3a coboin... 


OT rayxoH AecHo onyuiKu 

Ajo HeBMAMMOH peKu— 

Bcraaw TaHKH, KyYXHH, TIyWIKH, 
Tsaraun, rpy30Bukn, 
AerkoBble — KpHBO, KOCO, 

B pag, He B pad, Blepes-Ha3a4d, 
lycewuupl K KoAeca 

Ha cuery euje Bu3KaT. 


89 


“Going far?” 

“Back to my unit 

At the front. Arm hit.” 

“I get it. 

Hero, are you?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“Then give us a Cigarette.” 


Smoke and drive. The road’s blue murder, 
ust a cutting through the snow. 

werve a fraction and youre in it: 
Greatcoats off and here we go! 

“Just as well you’ve got a shovel.” 
ust as well. It would be hell.” 
ust as well there’s those’ll help you.” 
“Some folks do. It’s just as well.” 


Onward roars the three-ton lorry, 
Till a convoy comes in view. 
Horse and infantry can skirt it, 
Lorries have to join the queue. 


Take advantage of the hold-up. 

Chat a bit ... well, hardly chat. 
Slumped across the wheel, the driver’s 
Passed out flat, 

Just like that. 


For how many hours, half-dozing, 
Never resting, on the go, 

Has the driver put behind him 

In all weathers through the snow.... 


From the outskirts of the forest 

To the unseen river, stand 

Ordnance, tanks, field kitchens, trailers, 
Tractors, lorries, cars —all jammed 
Higgledy-piggledy, this way, that way, 
Back to ee and front to back, 

While the tortured snow screams under 
Wheel and caterpillar track. 


90 


Ha mpocrtope BeTep pesox, 
30A MOpo3 BOAM3H 2KeAE;3a, 
Ayer B Aylly, BXOAHT B rpyAb— 
He goTponscs Kak-Hnby Ab. 


— Bor 6e,aa: Bo Bceii KOAOHHE 
SaBaanieH HeT rapMOHH, 
-A MOpO3— HH CTaTb, HH CECTb... 


Cusaa NepyaTKn, TpeT AaAouH, 
CAbILIHT BAPpyT: 
— TapMoub-ro ectTp. 


YMMHaA CHEF 3€PHACTHIA, 
Bnepemenky — MAAC He MAAC — 
Bo3ae TaHKa 4Ba TaHKHCTa 
I'pewr Horn mpo asamac. 


— Y koro rapmoub, pe6sta? 

— Aa ona-To 34ecb, OpaTox...— 
OTrAAHYACA BHHOBATO 

Ha Bogutean crpeaok. 


— Tax cbirpatb 651 Ha 4opoxky? 
— Aja chirpatb— ono He Bpea. 

— B gem xe geno? Una rapMollkKa? 
— “Uba 6nraa, Toro, 6par, Her. 


VU cka3aa ye BOAMTEAB 

BmecrTo Apyra cBoero: 

— Komananp Ham On1A AioOnTeAB... 
CxXOpOHMAH. MBI eFo. 


— Taxk..—C neaosxkow yani6xor 
Ilorangea 60ey, BoKpyr, 

CAOBHO OH Koro OmmHOKON, 
Hexora o6ngea BApyr. 


IloacuseT OCTOpOKHO, 

YTo6 Ha TOM NOKOHYMTS pes: 
— KA cantaa, ChITpaTb-TO MO2XKHO, 
flyMaa, uToO x ee Gepe4p. 


£ + 
ps Ee 


nT 


So 


A) 
— 
bogs 


; 
a 


91 


And out here the wind’s pernicious, 
Close to iron, the frost is vicious. 

It can cut your chest in two; 

I'd stand back if I were you! 


“All this pile-up— nothing doing, 
And no spare accordion going. 
We'll get frozen, waiting here....” 


Peels his gloves off and starts blowing. 
“We've got one,” 
says someone near. 


Stamping down the powdery snowdust 
In a kind of hopping dance, 

By their tank, two shivering crewmen 
Warm their feet up in advance. 


“Well, who’s got the squeege-box, fellers?” 
“Why, we’ve got it here, inside....” 

And the gunner glanced round, shamefaced, 
At his driver by his side. 


“Shall I play one for the road, then?” 
“Play... No harm in that, I’m sure....” 
“What’s the matter, then? Whose is it?” 
“He’s not with us any more....” 


Then the driver interrupted. 
“Our commander,” ventured he, 
“He was very fond of playing. 
We've just buried him, you see....” 


“Oh...” The soldier glanced around him, 
Smiled in his embarrassment, 

As if guilty of a blunder 

Where no real offence was meant. 


And, to smooth the matter over, 

He explained himself with care: 
“Thought it might be better played on, 
Than just lying idle there.” 


92 


A cCTpeaoKk: 

— Bor B ston 6amHe 

Ou cugea B 6010 BuepalllHeo... 
Tpoe— 6n1AM MBI Apy3bA. 


— fa HeAb3A Tak yK HEAB3A. 

Al Beab CaM IIOHATb yMeW, 

Al BTopyw, Opa, BoHHY... 

VM panenue umen, 

V1 KonTy3Hl0 Ofny. 

VM onsatbh xe — nocygutre — 
Moxet, 3anTpa—c mecta B 60ii... 


— GHaellb 4TO,—CKa3aA BOAMTEAB,— 
Hy, cbirpait TH, wyT c TOboH. 


TOaAbKO 838A 60en, TpexpxAKy, 
Cpa3y Bu4HO— rapMOHHCT. 
Tas Hayaay, JAA MOpAAKy 
KunyaA laAbljbl CBEpxXy BHH3. 


Ilosa6niTbii AepeBeHcKnit 
Bapyr 3aBea, rAaga 3aKpBIB, 
Cropousbl posHow CMOAeHCKON 
IpycrHsii naMATHBIM MOTHB, 


VU of To rapMouiku cTapoH, 
UtTo ocTaaach CHpoToHn, 
Kak-TO BApyF TelAee CTaAo 
Ha gopore poutoson. 


OT MallivH 3aMHACBEABIX 
Illea Hapod, Kak Ha OFOHB. 
Vs komy Kakoe Jeao, 

KTO MrpaeT, UbA FapMOHB. 


ToabkO ABOe TeX TAHKHCTOB, 
ToT BOAHTeAb HM CTPeaok, 
Bce rAd gat Ha rapMOHUCTa— 
CAOBHO 4TO-TO HEBAOMEK. 


Uro-To uygutca pebatam, . 
B cHexkHOW KpyTHTCA MIBIAH. 


93 


Then the gunner: 

“He sat through it 

Yesterday up in that turret. 

We were all great friends, you know.” 


“Well, of course, then, it’s no go. 

I can guess just how you're feeling; 
This one is my second war. 

I’ve been wounded once in action, 
And I’ve been concussed, what’s more, 
And, who knows, tomorrow maybe 

I'll be in it once again....” 


“Oh, well, blow you,” said the driver, 
“Go ahead and play it, then.” 


When our soldier took the accordion, 
It was clear he knew his stuff, 

As he ran his nimble fingers 

Down the studs to start things off. 


Eyes half closed, he played a haunting 
Melody, sad and forlorn, 

From somewhere around the country 
Near Smolensk, where he was born. 


And the ancient squeege-box, lonely 
For its master dead and gone, 
Warmed things up along the highway 
Somewhere near the front-line zone. 


From their lorries, white with hoarfrost, 
Soldiers poured, as to a fire. 

Who was playing whose accordion 
They could neither know nor care. 


Only two of them, the driver 

And the gunner, standing by, 
Stared and stared at the musician 
In a puzzled kind of way, 


As if they were seeing phantoms 
In the mists of whirling snow, 


94 


byATO BUACAHCh KOrJa-TO, 
CAOBHO rge-TO NOABE3AN... 


Vi, cmeunsin maps Osicrpo, 
Ou, Kak 6yATO Ha 3aKa3, 

3aecb MOBeA O Tpex TaHKHCTAaX, 
Tpex Topapuiyax pacckas. 


He po HX AM CAOBO B CAOBO, 
He 0 TOM AM MeCHA BCA. 

Vs notynvanch cyposo 

B wiaemMax KOKaHBIX ApPy3bA. 


A 6o0ely 30BeT KyJa-TO, 
{jaaeko, A€TKO BeseT. 
— Ax, Kako BBI BCce, pebaTa, 
Moaogon ele Hapog. 


Aue To ewe cKa3aa 651,— 
IIpo ce6s no6epery. 

A we Tak eme chirpaa 6n1,— 
JKaab, YTO AYAMIE HE MOTY. 


Al 3a6bIACA Ha MHHYTKy, 
SauMrpaach Ha XOAy, 

Vs aapaiite A Ha LWIyTKy 
OTO Bce TlepeBey. 


O6orpeTbca, NOTOAKAaTBCA 
K rapMOHKCTY BCe HAT. 
O6ctymaiT. 

— Croiite, 6parun, 
f\aite Ha pyku MOAyTp. 


— OTMopo3HA napeHb maAbubI,— 
Haao nomorys cKopyio. 

— 3naemb, 6pocb TH 9TH BaABCHI, 
Ajaii-Ka Ty, KOTOpyv... 


Vi onatTb AOAow nepyarky, 
OTAAHYACA MOAOALIOM 

VW kak 6yaTo Ty TpexpsaKy 
Tlopepxya ApyruM KOHYOM. 


95 


As if they had met the player 
Somewhere not so long ago. 


He, with swift and nimble fingers, 
Started, as if by request, 

Playing of the three brave tankmen, 
Friends and comrades of the best. 


Yes, the song was all about them: 
Every detail, every word. 

Stern, those two in leather helmets 
Bowed their heads at what they heard. 


And the soldier worked his magic, 
Took them far away somewhere. 
“Oh, how young you are, you people, 
All you soldier boys out there! 


“I would say a lot more, really, 
But I'll keep it hid from you. 

I would play much better, truly — 
It’s the best that I can do. 


“I forgot myself completely. 
Guess the tune went to my head. 
That’s enough of being serious, 
Let’s have something gay instead.” 


All come running to the player 
For a warm and chat. They stand 
In a circle round him. 

“Hold it! 


Let me blow upon my hand!” 


“Diddums get himself frostbitten? 
Better call the ambulance!” 
“Listen, never mind those waltzes, 
How about a Russian dance?” 


Once again he peels his glove off, 
Glances challengingly round, 

Then he seems to turn that squeege-box 
Inside out‘and upside down. 


96 


VM s3a6niTo—He 3a6nITO, 
{ja He BpeMA BCNOMHHAT, 
Tae 4 KTO AeKUT yOuTHit 
V1 komy ene Aaexath. 


VW skomy TpaBy *KHBOMy 

Ha 3eMaAe TOMTaTb NOTOM, 

Ajo KeHbI MpuHiitu, JO AOMy,— 
Tae *eHa u rae TOT AOmM? 


ITAacyHbI Ha Mapy Mapa 

C mecTa KHHYAMCA BApyr. 
3aAblilaA MOPO3HBIM apo, 
Pazsorpeaca TeCHBIM Kpyr. 


— Beceaet kpyxxuTech, Aah! 
Ha HOCKM He HacTynaTb! 


VU 6exut modep TOT camnli, 
Onacasch ON034aTh. 


Yeh KopmMuaey, ye monaen, 

Tae mpumeaca KO ABOpy? 
KpHkHYA Tak, 4TO paccTyMMAnce: 
— /jaiire Mue, a TO nompyl.. 


Mi nomea, nomea paborats, 
Hactynaa u rpo3a, 

{ja Kak BbIAyMaeT 4TO-TO, 
UtTo u BBICKa3aTb HEAb3A. 


CAOBHO B pa34HHK Ha BedepKe 
TloaoBuyb! rHeT B H36e, 
IIlpu6aytTKu, noropopKu 
CrimaeT nog Horn ce6e. 


MoaaetT 3a wryKow mryKy: 
— OX, KaAb, 4TO HETY CTYyKy, 
Ox, Apyr, 

Ka6nl CTyk, 

Ka6ni BAapyr — 

Moweusii Kpyr! 


97 


Yes, forget — It’s not the moment 

To remember anyway — 
Who’s been killed and where he’s buried, 
Or whose turn will come next day. 


Who will live to tread the grasses 

On this Earth in time to come, 

.Go home to his wife and family — 
Where’s his wife, and where’s his home? 


And the dancers leave their places, 
Coming forward, pair by pair. 
Things warm up inside that circle, 
Breath steams in the frosty air. 


“Come on, ladies, spin more lively! 
Mind their toes, gents, as you go!” 


Look, here runs the lorry driver, 
Desperate not to miss the show. 


Who’s this father of a family, 
Like a.bolt come from the blue, 
Life and soul of all the party, 
Shouting, “Quickly, let me through!” 


In he goes to lead the dancing, 
Wags his head from side to side, 
Improvising steps and movements 
Quite impossible to describe, 


As if clumping round the dance-floor 
Ona village holiday, 

Letting off a stream of wisecracks, 
Gags and patter on the way. 


One crack follows on another: 
“What we need is floor-boards, brothers! 
Damn! Damn! 
{ust can’t slam 
ith a wham — 
Bam-bam-bam! 


98 


Ka6nl BaAecHKH OTOpOCHTE, 
TlogkopaTbca Ha Kabayk, 
IipuneyaratTb Tak, ¥ro6 cpa3y 
Ka6ayky TOMy — Kalox! 


A rapMOHb 30BeT kyJa-TO, 
fjaaeko, A€rKO BeJCT... 


HeT, Kako BHI BCe, pebaTa, 
YAMBUTeEABHEIM Hapod. 


XotTp 6b1 YTO peOaTaM 9THM, 
C mecTa—B BOJy 4H B OTOHB. 
Bce, uTo MoxeT ObITB Ha CBeTE, 
XoTb Obl dTO—ry4AuT rapMOHB. 


_BsiropapuBaeT 4XcTO, 

Zlo AyWM AOHOCHT 3ByK. 

VW scka3aAnw aba TaHKHCTa 
TapMouucty: 

— 3uaelllb, Apyr... 

He 3HakOMbI Ab MbI C TOOOW? 
He te6a an 9TO, Spar, 
Uro-TO NOMHHTCH, 43 608 
ZJlocTaBAAAM MbI B CaHOaT? 


Bca B Kposy 6plAa ofema, 
VW mpocna TH NHTb fa MTB... 


IIpurayurma rapMons: 
— Hy 4To xe, 
Oueub gaxke MoxeT 6nITb. 


— Ham Teneppb cToatTp B PeMOHTe. 
Y re6a MapiuipyT HHO. 

— Dro TOYUHO... 

— A rapMoHb-TO, 

3Haelwb 4To,—6epx c co6oit. 


3a6upaii, urpaii B oxory, 

B 9TOM AeAe THI MaCTAaK, 

Becean cBow mexorty. 

— To Bh, XAONUbI, KaK Ke Tak?.. 


99 


“What we want is heels of metal 
Nailed on each and every boot! 
Then we’d stamp in fine old fettle 
Till our heels were all kaput!” 


And the music works its magic, 
Takes them far away somewhere. 


“Oh, you are such marvellous people, 
All you soldier boys out there!’ 


Send them all through fire and water, 
Yet, wherever they may be, 

You will hear an old accordion 
Wheezing out some melody. 


And its voice is pure and simple, 
And your heart thrills to the sound. 
Then the gunner and the driver 
To the player: . 
“Listen, friend, 
Don’t we sort of seem to know your 
Was it you, as we recall, 

That we drove away from battle 

To the Army hospital? 


“Yes, your uniform was bloody, 
You were thirsty as can be....” 


Sudden silence. ‘“‘Now you say so, 
There’s a chance that it was me....” 


“We'll be held up on repair work, 
You'll be pushing on, of course.” 

“True enough.” 

“Then here you are, mate, 

You can take that box. It’s yours. 


“Play it when the fancy takes you. 
Youre an expert, anyway. 

Keep your comrades in good spirits.” 
“Boys, you can’t mean what you say!” 


100 


— Havero,— cxa3aa BoAHTeAb,— 
Tak u 6yger. Hugero. 
KomaHaup Ham 6nA Al06uTeAb, 
DTO— 1aMATb Mpo Hero... 


Mc onymikn oTgaaenHoit 
Hi3-3a THCAYH KOAeC 

H3 kOHUa B KOHEL, KOAOHHH: 
«IIo mamiMHam! » — aoHecaocn. 


Hi onaTh ysaanl, B3TOpKH, 
Cer 4a €AKH C AByx CTOpOH... 
Eger aaabme Baca Tepxuy,— 
Dro 6A, KOHETHO, OH. 


101 


“Not to worry,” said the driver. 
“‘We’ve made up our minds, you see. 
Our commander loved his music; 
Keep that in his memory....” 


From the fringes of the forest, 
As a thousand engines roared, 
Echoing up and down the convoy 
Came the order, “All aboard!” 


Hills and vales again, and snowdrifts, 
And the highway flanked with firs. 
On he rides, Vassili Tyorkin — 

Him and no one else, of course! 


102 


ABA COAAATA 


B moae Bblra-3aBupyxa, 

B Tpex Bepcrax ry4uT BolHa. 
Ha neun B u30e cTapyxa, 
ea-X03AHH y OKHa. 


PByTCA MHHBbI. 3ByK 3HaKOMBIii 
Or3biBaeTCA B CMH. 

OTO sHayHT— TepkHH Joma, 
TepkHH CHOBa Ha BOHHE. 


A cTapuk kak 6yaTo yxom 

Ilo npusprike He BeJseT. 

— Ilepeaet! Aexu, crapyxa.— 
Wan cKaxer: 

— Hegoaet... 


Ha neun, 3a6MBUIHCh B yroa, 
Ta caeguT uCHOATMUIKAa 

C yBaxKUTeABHBIM HCIyrTOM 
3a nopagKon crapnka, 


TWO SOLDIERS 


Blizzard whirling round the cabin, 
Din of war just three versts off. 
Grandpa’s sitting by the window, 
Grandma’s huddled on the stove. 


Shells exploding; noise familiar 

Tingling up and down the spine, 
Meaning, Tyorkin’s back on home ground, 
Tyorkin’s in the wars again. 


Veteran Grandpa just ignores it, 
Doesn’t seem to give a hoot. 

“Overshoot! Lie down, old lady!” 
Or: “That was an undershoot....” 


Shrinking back into the corner, 
She’s as quiet as a mouse, 
Suddenly grown deferential 
To the master of the house, 


104 


C kem *KHAAa— He yBaxKaaa, 
C xem 6paHHaachb Ha Teun, 
Or Koro BgaAn Jepxana 

IIo xo3aicTBy BCe KAIOUH. 


A cTapHk, OfeBiuicb B uly6y 
VB owkax MOACEB K CTOAY, 

Kak OT KAIOKBBI, KPHBHT ryOni — 
Tount crapyio mHAy. 


— Bor He pexXeT, TOUHLUIb, TOUMLUD, 
He 6epetT, Hy 4TO TH xouemtb!..— 
TepKHH BCTAaA: 

— A MoxeT, Jed, 

Y Hee pa3sBoJa HeT? 


Cam muay Geper: 

— A Hy-ka...— 

VB pykax ero muAa, 
TouHo NOAHATAaA LlyKa, 
OcTpow cnHHKOM NoBeaa. 


Tlopeaa, MOBHCAa KpOTKO. 
Tepkun Ly pHTCA: 

— Hy, sor. 

Tlonmyn-Ka, Jed, pa3sBodky, 
MbI ef cgeAaeM pa3BO0J. 


IlocmoTpeTb— nu TO OTpadHO: 
3aBaAniaA MWAa 

Tak-TO AagHO, TaK-TO CKAa4AHO 
Y Hero B pykaXx Mpoutaa. 


O6epHyAacb — 4 TOTOBO. 

— Ha-xo, geg, 6bepu, cmorpu. 
byger pesatb ayume HOBO, 
Spa HHCTpyMeHT He KOpH. 


VM xo3aHH BHHOBAaTO 

Y 6ovija OepeT nmay. 

— Bort 4To 3HaduT MBI, COAZaTEI,— 
Craput 6epexHo B yray. 


105 


Whom she’s never much respected, 

Whom she’s quarrelled with night and day, 
And from whom she’s long since taken 

All the household keys away. 


Grimacing as at the flavour 

Of unsweetened cranberry juice, 
He’s at table — fur coat, specs on — 
Sharpening a saw. No use. 


“Drat this blade! I’ve sharpened, sharpened, 
Still the wretched thing won't bite.” 
Tyorkin says: 
“It could be, Grandad, 
You've not got the teeth set right.” 


Then he takes the saw from Grandpa 
And the blade on the incline 

Like a pike fished from the river 
Curves its long and narrow spine. 


Curves and hangs there unprotesting. 
Tyorkin frowns. 

“H'm, yes, I see.... 

Find the setter for me, Grandpa, 
And we'll fix it properly.” 


And it is a joy and pleasure 
{ust to see what Tyorkin’s made, 
ith a few adroit adjustments, 

Of that almost useless blade. 


He transformed it, as by magic. 
“See? Now that would put to shame 
Any new one. Doesn’t pay, Dad, 
Saying that the tool’s to blame.” 


Grandpa takes the saw from Tyorkin, 
Guilt is written on his face. 

“That’s the stuff, men! Up the Army!” 
And he stands it in its place. 


106 


A cTapyxa: 

— CaaO raa3amu. 

Crap rogaMu MOH COAdaT. 
Tlorasaea 651, 4TO C 4acamu, 
C Tou BOHHBI elle CTOAT... 


CHsA Wachl, TAAAMT: MalliMua, 
TouHo MeAbHHLA, B TIBIA. 
IlayTHHaMM IIpy2KHHbI 

Tlayku o6B0A0KAH. 


Wx nopecwa B xaTe HOBOM 
Jlea-cOAAaT AaBHbIM-4aBHO: 
Ha creue IIPOCTOH COCHOBOK 
Tak HW CBeETHTCA NATHO. 


OcmoTpesB 4achI AeTaAbHO,— 
Bce * 4aChl, a He WMAa,— 
Mactep Tuxo 4 MedABHO 
Ilocsuctea: 

— []aoxnm yeaa... 


Ho kya-TO WHABIEM CyHyA, 
UTO-TO BBICMOTPEeA B IIBIAH, 
BuyTpb Kyfa-TO AYHYA, MAWHYA,— 
Yro TH AyMaelllb,— nowan! 


KpyTHT CTpeaky. CTaBHT NATH, 
Yac— Apyrou, Bsnepeg— Ha3a4. 

— Bot 4TO 3Ha4nT Mbl, COAAAaTH,— 
IlpocaesMaca 4eq-coadar. 


Alea pactporan, a crapyxa, 
OTCAOHMB AaJOHbW yxo, 

C meuku caymaer: 

— MUayt! 

— Hy u napeus, ny u MYT... 


Yaupasetca. A TapeHb 

YCAY RUT ellje He pOub. 

— Mower, caro Hago KapuTs? 
Tak ONATb MOry MOMOUB. 


107 


Then says she: 

“My soldier laddie 

Can’t see proper any more. 

Try that clock. It’s not been going 
Ever since the other war....” 


Tyorkin takes it down, looks at it... 
Innards dusty as a mill, 

Choked with spiders’ webs cocooning 
Spring and pinion, cog and wheel. 


Years ago, in their new cabin, 
Grandpa hung that clock up there. 
You can see the plain pine gleaming 
On the patch of wall left bare. 


Careful, Tyorkin looks it over — 
It’s a clock and not a saw— 

Soft and low our expert whistles: 
“Goodness, this is pretty poor!” 


But he pokes an awl inside it, 

Seems to find what’s wrong. He blows, 
Then he spits on something in there, 
And — you'll never guess — it goes! 


Then to five o’clock he sets it, 
Forward, back again he tries. 

“That's the stuff, men! Up the Army!” 
There are tears in Grandpa’s eyes. 


He’s much moved. She, with a stare, 
Cups her hand behind her ear. 
“Why, it’s going! Well I never! 
Bless the laddie — he’s right clever!” 


She’s amazed. As for the laddie, 
He'd like something else to do. 
“If I fried. some of your bacon, 
Would that be a help to you?” 


108 


TyT_cTapyxa 3acToHaaa: 
— Caao, caao! Tye Tam caao... 


Tepkuu: 
— ba6xa, caao 34ecp. 
He 6n1A HeMey|— 3Ha4dHT, ecTD! 


VM sao6asna, BapKu Aaa, 
Tasgaa og Horn ce6e: 

— Xouemp, 6a6xKa, yragao, 
Tae aexuT OHO B u36e? 


Ba6xka OxHyAa TpeBoxKHo, 
3aBO3HAacb Ha MeqH. 

— Bor c To60w, pa3Be MOxHO... 
TlomoadH yx, MOMOAUH. 


A XO3AHH IIAYTOBaTO 

TocTa 104 AOKOTS THIIKOM: 

— Bor 4To 3Ha4uUT MBI, COAAaTH, 
A Bedb CaA0 N04 3aMKOM. 


Kay cTapyxa goaro waputT, 
Aeser C NeqKH, CaAO KapHT 
H, crpagaa Ao Konya, 
Pas6upaeT 4Ba Aliya. 


Ox, amunHuyal JakycKn 
Her noae3neit 4 npounelt. 
TToaaraerca no-pyccku 
BuinuTb wapKy nepeg Heil. 


— Hy, xosauu, MIOHEMHOXKKY, 
Ilo ogHoi, Kak Ha BOHtHe. 
OTO AOKTOp Ha AOpoxKy 
AAA 340POBbA BEIJaA MHe. 


OTBHHTHA y haaru KPBIIIKy: 
— Ile, orey, He 6yger AMUIKy. 


Tlonepxnyaca 4ea-coagar. 
TloaTaHyaca: 
— Buuosarl.. 


109 


Whereon Grandma moans in anguish. 
“Bacon? Bacon? What d’you mean?” 


Tyorkin: 
“Must be bacon somewhere, 
If the Germans haven’t been.” 


And he adds, determined, patient, 
Eyes fixed firmly on the floor: 

“If you like, give me three guesses 
Where you usually keep a store.” 


Grandma stirs in agitation, 

Horrified at what she’s heard. 

“Lord above, you wouldn't, would your... 
Not a word, now, not a word!” 


Then, unseen by her, the guv’nor 
Nudges Tyorkin roguishly. 

“That’s the stuff, men! Up the Army! 
Yes, it’s under lock and key!” 


After much mysterious groping, 
Down she climbs, gets out t e Bacon, 
Hides her grief as best she can, 
Breaks two eggs into the pan. 


Scrambled eggs! Now there’s an entrée! 
Nothing nicer from the pantry! 
Russian custom says that thirst 

Should be slaked with vodka first. 


“Come on, Grandpa, just a noggin... 
There’s a war on, after all. 

Got this from the Army doctor. 
Quite legit — medicinal.” 


dyorkin then unscrewed the top. 
“Here we are, there’s still a drop.” 


Grandpa coughed and Grandpa spluttered.... 
“Beg your pardon, son,” he muttered; 


110 


Kpomky xaeOylika MOHIOxaA. 
OKeBAA—H Cpa3y CHIT. 


A 60el,, TpAxHyB Had yXOM 
Tow asrou, ropoput: 

— Paccyxgax Tak AM, CAK AM, 
Bce paBHo Takow Kanaeti 

He corpets 60H 3B Bow. 
byapre MBB! 

— [lente. 

— I[pw... 


Vis cuaat oun no-6patcKn 
3a CTQAOM, TLAe€YO B MAe4O. 
Pa3roBop BeAYT COAgaTCKHH, 
ApyxHo cnopat, rops4o. 


Jeg KuMmHT: 

— J[o3BoAb, ToBapuy. 

UtTo Thl BAaACHKH MHE XBaAHIIb? 
Pa3pellin-Ka AOAO%KMTB. 
Xopoum? A rae cyliMTh? 


He mpocyuimiub HX B 3€MAAHKE, 
Het, THI Aali-Ka MHe Calor, 

Zja CyKOHHbIe NOPTAHKH 

jai Tht MHe —Torga a Gor! 


Cuosa rge-To Ha 3a4BOpKax 
Mep3anii rpyuT Oognya cHapAd. 
Kak Hw B uem— Bacuanit Tepxun, 
Kak HH B YEM—CTAapHK COAAAaT. 


— OTM WITYKH B XKM3HH Hallei,— 
dlea pacxpacTaaca,— nycrTax! 

Ham OcKOAKH AaxKe B Kalle 
Ilonagaaucb. TouHo Tak. 
TlonageT, OTKHHELIb AOKKOH, 

A B teO6— Tak M MEpTBeL. 


— Ho ne 3Haan Bat OomOexkn, 
A cxaxy Tebe, ore. 


111 


Took a crust of bread and sniffed it, 
Gulped it down and seemed well fed. 


oforkin shook the little hip-flask 
Close against his ear, and said: 
“Might as well admit it, that'll 
Never warm a bloke in battle. 
Come on, Dad, good health to you. 
Knock it down!” 

“I’m going to!” 


And, like brothers at the table, 
Side by side they sat, and spent 
All their time on Army shop-talk, 
Lost in heated argument. 


Grandpa fumed: 

“Here, no offence, mate, 

But felt boots—it don’t make sense, mate. 
Beg permission to report, 

How d’you dry ’em out, in short? 


“How d’you dry ’em in a dug-out? 
You'll wear leather if you’re wise. 
Leather boots, puttees of flannel — 
That’s what I call paradise!” 


One more shell crumped in the frozen 
Earth out in the back somewhere. 
Neither Tyorkin nor the veteran 
Soldier really seemed to care. 


“Now, when I was in the Army 
That was only chicken feed! 

Why, we had the shrapnel landing 
In our kasha, yes indeed! 

You could flick it out, unless it 

Hit you too. Then you were dead!” 


“Still, you don’t know what it feels like 
Being bombed, though,” Tyorkin said. 


112 


— 97TO BepHo, TyT HayKa, 
Ty? naupoTus He nonmpeulb. 
A cKaxKH, Mpoctas WTyKa 
EcTb y Bac? 

— Kaxkasa? 

— Boump. 


VM, Maka B CaAO KOpKOH, 
IIpogoaxas pOBHO €CTB, 
Yasi6uyaca Bpose TepKHu 
Vi cxasaa: 
— UYactruyno ect... 


— 3nHaunt, ecTb? Torga ThI— BOMH, 
PaccyKAaTb CO MHOH AOCTOHH. 
Thi — cOAdaT, XOTA M MAJ, 

A CoAaaT coAgaTy — 6par. 


Vs ckaxku MHe OTKPOBEeHHO, 
fla He B DIyTKy, a BCepses. 
C TOUKM 3peHHA BOeHHOH 
Orseyali Ha MOK BOTIpoc. 
Otseyait: 106beM MBI HEMIa 
Man, Moet, He n065em? 


— Tloroau, ote, HaeMca, 
Sakylly, CKasky NOTOM. 


EA OH MHOYPO, HO He KadHo, 
OrTaaBaA 3aKyCKe 4eCTD, 
Tak-TO AaAHO, TaK-TO CKAaJHO, 
Tloraa anilb — 3aX04elub CCT. 


Bclo 344HCTHA CKOBOPOYKY, 
Bcraa, Kak 6yATO BApyr mogpoc, 
VM naatouex k nogbopogky, 
PoBHO CAOKEHHBIM, TIOAHEC. 
OTpAXHYA ONpATHO pyKH 

VM, Kak AOA BeEAMT B AOMy, 
TIoKAOHHACA H CTapyxe 

VW coagaty camomy. 

Moaua B MyTb 3anmoacaaca, 


113 


“True enough. That’s science for you, 

You can’t argue back, what’s worse. 

Tell me, though, would you still have those 
Little things....” 

“What?” 

“Lice, of course!” 


Tyorkin dipped his bread in dripping, 
Eating imperturbably, 

Then he smiled a sort of half-smile 
And replied: 

“Yes, partially.” 


“Yes? Then you're a soldier too, 
And I’m proud to sit with you, 
And one soldier to another, 
Young or old, is like a brother. 


“So please tell me very frankly, 
Honestly and seriously, 

From the military angle 

Put it very straight to me: 

Are we going to lick the Germans, 
Or d’you think we might not win?” 


“Hold it, let me finish eating, 
And we'll talk about it then.” 


He ate well, but with decorum, 
Gave the meal all honour due. 
Sheer delight to see him eating — 
Made your own mouth water, too. 


And he cleaned the frying pan up, 
Rose, seemed taller suddenly; 

Raised the neatly folded hankie 

To his chin most delicately. 

Neatly brushed his tunic sleeves down, 
And, to old tradition true, 

Bowed his thanks to the old lady, 
Bowed to the old soldier too; 


114 


Ocmorpeaca— BCce AM TyT? 
YecTb NO 4eCTH pacnpomaaca, 
Ha gach B3rAAHYA: HAyT! 

Bce npHnomMHna, BCe IpoBepHaA, 
THlogornHaa W T0g KOHeL 

OH B3A0XHYA y CaMOH ABeEpH 

Vs cKasaa: 

— Ilo6nem, oreu... 


B noae Bblora-3aBupyxa, 

B Tpex BepcTax rpeMHT BOMHa. 
Ha requ B u36e — cTapyxa. 
fleq-x03AMH y OKHA. 


B ray6une pogHon Poccun, 
IIporus BeTpa, rpyab Brepeg, 
Ilo cueram ngeT Bacnanit 
Tepxun. Hemya OutTb wger. 


115 


Donned his leather belt in silence, 
Checked his gear—he’d got it all. 
Said goodbye; glanced up—the clock was 
Ticking gaily on the wall; 
Tightened up his straps a little — 
All correct; our soldier lad 
Paused and turned right in the doorway, 
And announced: 

“We'll lick ’em, Dad.” 


Blizzard whirling round the cabin. 
Din of war just three versts off. 
Grandpa’s sitting by the window, 
Grandma’s hudaled on the stove. 


In the very heart of Russia 
Through the blizzard, pressing on 
With his chest out, goes Vassili 
Tyorkin, off to lick the Hun. 


116 


O IIOTEPE 


Iforepaa Goen KHCeT, 
3avcKkaaca,— HeT H HET. 


Tosoput boey: 

— /locaguo. 

CTOABKO BApyr CBaAHAOCh OeJ: 
Tlorepsa cempw. Hy aaano. 
Hert, Tak Ha Te6e— KuceT! 


SaliponacTHACA KyAa-TO, 
XBaTb-MOXBaTb, Wpomaa Mu CAed. 
Ilorepaxa uw ABOp M XarTy. 
Xopomo. WU por—xucer. 


Ka6pl rogbl MOAO BIE, 
A He LeAbIX COPOK ACT... 
Tlorepaa Kpan pOJHBIe, 
Bce Ha cBeTe HW KHCeT. 


TlocmoTpea c TOCKOH BOKpyT: 
— be3 kuceta, kak 6€3 pyk. 


LOST PROPERTY 


Missing — one tobacco pouch. 
Soldier searches, starts to grouch. 


“Well, this is a proper nuisance, 
Never rains but what it pours! 

Lost my family, and survived it; 

Now I’ve lost my pouch, what’s worse! 


“Put it somewhere, tried to find it— 
Vanished! Honest, it’s too much: 
Lost my stock and lost my cottage — 
Fair enough. But now my pouch! 


“If I wasn’t passing pie 
If I was a youngster still... 

But I’ve lost my own home country, 
Everything — my pouch as well.” 


Scans the room from end to end. 
“Just like losing your best friend.” 


118 


B Hel pHIOTHOM WIKOABHOM 4OMe — 
Myxxuku, He AeTBOpa. 

He 3a llapToH— Ha COAome, 
Ilepereptovi, Kak KocTpa. 


Cnat 60%ubI, KoMy Jocyr. 
Bopogay ropwerT BCcAyx: 


— bes xucera y MaxopKu 

Bxyc He TOT yxe. Caaba! 

Bot cyab6a, ToBapuyy Tepkun.— 
Tepkuu: 

— Uro tam 3a cyap6a! 


Tak CAYUMTBCA MOKET C KaK AbIM,— 
Bospa3va 6bopogayy ,— 

He Takonw CO MHOM O4HaX Jbl 
Cayyan Onin. HM ro mMoayy. 


VW MOAUHT, CONHT CypoBo. 
Koe-rge MpuBcTaA Hapod. 
V3 Meuika 43 BeleBOrO 
Tepkuu manKy Joctaer. 


IIpocto manky MexoByn, 
Tou noapyry Soesyn, 
UTo CHAUT Ha FOAOBE. 
Ecrb ofHa. OrKyaa ape? 


— I[puse3an Meus Ha TaHKe,— 
Hayaa Tepkun,—caaau c pyx. 
TOAbKO HeT Moe ymaHKu, 
Henopsgoxk uyto BApyr. 


Vine To uTo6 ovenb 3n6KnK ,— 
IIpocro ropaoctb y Meus. 
Tloromy, 60e 6e3 wanku— 
He 6oey. Kak 6e3 pemua. 


A AeByoHkKa MepeBa3sKy 
HexHO gJeaaet, Cc onacKon, 
V1, pugatTb, cama ona 

B 3TOM Jere 3eAeHa. 


119 


In what used to be a schoolhouse, 
Not small children — full-grown men; 
Not at desks, but on straw bedding, 
Trodden down till fine as bran. 


Some doze off; their duties done. 
Loud laments the bearded one: 

“If you’ve got no pouch, makhorka 
Doesn't keep: it tastes like muck. 

“Just my luck, eh, Comrade Tyorkin!” 
Tyorkin: 

“What d’you mean, your luck? 


‘Why, it could be anybody,” 
Jyorkin said protestingly. 

“T lost something too, except that... 
You'll hear no complaint from me.” 


He fell silent, snorting fiercely. 
Several men looked up at that. 
Rummaging inside his kitbag, 
Tyorkin came up with a hat. 


Usual titfer, made of fur, 

Worn by soldiers in the war. 
What’s a second doing there? 
How come Tyorkin’s got a spare? 


“It was in a tank they brought me, 
Dumped me at the hospital. 
Hadn’t got my fur hat with me, 
Didn’t care for that at all. 


“Not that I was feeling frozen — 
Just my pride,” the lad confessed. 
“Take his fur hat from a soldier 
And he only feels half dressed. 


‘Now, the girl who bandaged me 
Was as careful as could be. 

Yes, she was so downright nervous, 
You could see she was a novice. 


120 


— Ilanxy, manmky Mue, unaye 
He noeay! — Bot geaa. 

Tak KpH4y, NOYTH 4TO MAa4y, 
PaHa Tpy4uaa Oplaa. 


A 0Ha, Ae@BYOHKa 9Ta, 
Caosuo «6atowKH-6aro»: 


— IanKku Bameii,— MOABHT,— HeTy, 
Al BaM Wlaliky 4aM CBOW. 


HakaOuHaAachb MW Hadeaa. 

— He Boanyiitecb,— ropopnt 
Vi cpoeH pyyouKou Geaori 
O6KoaoAace: G6bIA HEOpHT. 


CKOAbKO B 2KH3HM BCAKHX WaloKk 
Al HOCHA yKe — HE CYECTH, 

Ho y sTouw Jae 3amax 

He Takou KaKOH-TO ECTb... 


— Uni Th, BaiayMaa npymety. 
— Canimiaa 3B0H M34aAeKa. 

— A 3a4eM TBI Walky 9Ty 

Cox paHseub? 

— Aopora. 


Ajopora Sony, kak MaMATD. 
A ele CKa3aTb MOry 

Ilo cekpety, Mex ay HaMu,— 
Illanxy c yeapio Gepery. 


VB oOguH npexpacunii Beyep 
Bapyr cayautcax pa3srospop: 
«Pa3pemmMte BaM pu BCTpeye 
ToaosHoH Bpy4nTb yGop...» 


Cam npuscraa Bacuanit c Mecta 
VM nog cmex 6008 rycroi, 

Kak Ha CljeHe, C BaxXHBIM 2KeECTOM 
O6patuaca 6yaTo kK Ton, 

YTo NATb CAOB eMy CkKa3aAa, 

Uro raxnx peOat, kak On, 


121 


“*Find my hat! My hat, somebody! 
I won't leave till it’s been found,’ 

I was shouting, almost sobbing... 
Yes, it was a nasty wound. 


“Then she soothed me, like a mother 
Tucking up her child in bed. 

‘But you never had one with you. 
Here, I'll give you mine instead.’ 


‘So she stooped and put it on me. 
‘Don’t you fret, now,’ she declared. 
And her hand, so white and gentle, 
Brushed the stubble of my beard. 


“Just how many different kinds of 
Hats I’ve worn, I just can’t tell. 
But this one is special, somehow — 
Got a sort of fragrant smell...” 


“What d’you know —he’d got it serious!” 
“He’s been hearing bells, that one!” 
“Why’ve you kept it all this time, though?” 
“Sentimental value, chum. 


“It’s a keepsake, very precious, 
And I might point out to you 
Confidentially and in secret, 
I’ve a certain aim in view. 


‘Maybe some enchanted evening 
You will hear me saying this: 
‘Since we meet again, allow me 

To return your headgear, Miss....’” 


To his feet rose Vasya Tyorkin, 
Grand, theatrical his air, 

And, amid the general laughter, 

He addressed himself to her 

Who had said but five words to him, 
Who, for all that he could tell, 


122 


3a BONY MepeBa3aaa, 
MoxeT, Weabid OaTaAboH. 


— Um, kakue 3naer pean, 

M3 kakux moauT6eceg: 
«PaspellutTe BaM pv BCTpede...» 
Bou tyt uTo. A THI— KUCeT. 


— 4Uto &, NMOHATHO, XOAOCTOMy 
Muoro ayue Ha BoitHe: 

Her Tock Tako no Aomy, 

Ilo aeTumIKaM, IO >*KeHe. 


— Xoaoctomy? 9ro Touno. 
OTO TH Kak yrafaa. 

Ho noseps., 4To a HapouHO 
He xxennaca. A, 6pat, 3Haa! 


— ro tH 3Haa! Komy apyromy 
SHatb Opi Ayue Haneped, 

Uro yigeT coagatT u3 Aomy, 

A Bova JOMOn IpHaer. 


Utro npowazeT ona MOTONOM 
Ilo amuy 3eEMAM 2KMBOM 

Vi 3acTaBuT pbITb OKOMIBI 
Ilepea camowo Mocxsoii. 
Uro Ta 3Haal.. 


— A Th NOcToH-ka, 

He rangu, 4TO c BHAYy Maa, 
A He CTOABKO, 

He noacroanKo,— 
UerTaeptb crovbKo! — 
TOAbKO 3HaA. 


— Hvysero, 1To A B KOAXO3Ee, 
He B croanye Kypc Mpouea. 
JKaAb, TaApMOHb MOA B O603e, 
A Or AekyHIO Mpoyen. 


Pa3peliu OJHO OTMeTHTD, 
Mow Tosapuy x coced: 


123 


Might have bandaged a battalion 
Of young lads like him as well. 


“Hark at him! He’s been rehearsing!” 
“Where’s his soap-box? He’s no slouch!” 
“Since we meet again, allow me...’ 

You and your tobacco pouch!” 


“Well, of course, it’s best in wartime 
If you’re single, on your own. 

Then you needn’t worry, thinking 
Of the wife and kids at home.” 


“Single? How d’you know I’m single? 
That was pretty sharp of you. 

But I stayed that way on purpose; 
Never married, ‘cause I knew!” 


“Knew? And how could you have known 
That a man would leave his home, 

Or that, when he’d gone, the war 

Would come banging on his door? 


“That it would come sweeping onwards 
Like a flood across the land, 

Or that even outside Moscow 

We'd dig in to make a stand. 

Knew indeed!” 


“Now just a minute! 

Though I’m no great shakes to you, 
Didn’t know much, 

Only so much, 

Less than so much— 

But I knew! 


“On the farm, and not in Moscow — 
That’s where I learnt all I knew. 

If I had my squeege-box with me, 
I'd teach you a thing or two. 


“One more thing. Just how old are we, 
Friend and comrade with the grouch? 


124 


CKOAbBKO A€T 2KMBEM Ha CBeTe? 
ApaayaTb naTp! A THI— KHCET. 


bopogay nog cMex 4 roMoH 
PoeT BHOBb TpyXy-COAOMy, 
Tlepeujynaa Bce BOKpyr: 

— bes xucera, kak 0€3 pyk... 


— be3 xnucera, HeCOMHeHHO, 
Tr Goer ye He TOT. 

Pa3 KHCeT —lIpeAMeT BOCHHBIH, 
Ha-ko Mou, He 1O4onAeT? 


IIpHuuman, a— aoOpsiit mapens. 
Mue He arb. He nponagy. 
Mune eye MATS WTyYK MOAapAT 

B wactymatomseM roy. 


Tor 6epeT KuceT noTepThii. 
Kak JHTA, OOHOBKE padZ... 


MW trorga Bacnank Tepxun 
CAOBHO BCNHOMHHA: 
— Cayuiait, Opar. 


Tlorepatb cemMb}O HE CTBIAHO— 
He TBoa 6bIAa BHHA. 
Ilorepatb 6amKy — o6nA4Ho, 
ToaAbKO 4TO K, Ha TO BOHHA. 


Totepatb KuceT Cc MaxopKoi, 
Ecaw He€KOMY NOUATb,— 

A He Cloplo,— Toxe ropKKo, 
TsasKeao0, HO MOMKHO KUT, 
[lepexutp Oeay-MPOPyXY, 
B kyAaKe 4epxKaTb Tabak, 
Ho Poccuw, Matb-cTapyxy, 
Ham ‘TepATb HEAB3A HUKAaK. 


Hau Aeabl, Hawn getu, 
Halim BHYKM He BeAAT. 
CKOABKO A€T 2%KHBeM Ha CBeTe? 
Tayy?.. Boanme! To-To, 6pat! 


125 


Twenty-five! And all you think of 
Is your damned tobacco pouch.” 


While the other men guffaw, 

Bearded one combs through the straw, 
Muttering, “No two ways about it, 
Feel completely lost without it.” 


“Certainly, there’s no denying 
You're not half the man you were. 
If it means all that much to you, 
Here, take mine, if you prefer. 


“Go on, take it. I’m not fussy. 

Vil get by without it. Here! 

Dare say I'll be sent five new ones 
In the post this coming year.” 


So he takes the pouch, delighted 
As a child with something new. 


Then, as if some thought had struck him, 
Tyorkin says, 
“Now, listen, you! 


‘Lost your family? Not your fault, mate. 
That you can’t be punished for. 

Lose your head quite literally — 

That’s a nuisance, but it’s war. 


“Lose your pouch, and no one there to 
Sew you one — I'll not deny, 

That’s a beastly thing to, happen, 

But at least you can get by. 

You can weather the disaster, 

Keep the baccy in your hand. 

But we mustn't lose old Russia, 

Mustn’t lose our motherland. 


“That our grandparents, our children, 
And their children won’t permit. 

Count the years we've lived. A thousand? 
Even more? Well, that’s just it! 


126 


CKOAbKO 2KHTb ele Ha CBeTe,— 
Toa, HAb JBa, UAb THI AeCT,— 
Mp c To6bow 3a BCce B OTBETE. 
To-ro, 6pat! A THI— KHCeT... 


127 


“For the future that awaits us, 

You and I alone can vouch. 

One year, two years, or a thousand.... 
You and your tobacco pouch!” 


128 


TIOEAZUHOK 


Hemet 6b1A CHACH HW AOBOK, 
Aaquo cCKpoeH, Kpemko cmmHT, 
Ok CTOAA, KaK Ha NOAKOBAX, 
He nyrai— ne no6bexur. 


Cita, OpuTpiii, 6bepexenbiit, 
Aapmosbim 406pom KopMAeHHBIN, 
Ha Botive, B 4y>KOH 3eMAe 
OrocnaBluHHcA B TeIAe. 


On yaapua, He cTpaujas, 
bua, uT06 cOuTb HaBepHaka. 
Vs Obraa kak KOcTS O6oOAbIIAaA 
B pycckoi Bapexkke pyka... 


He urpaa CO CMepTbb B NIpATKH,— 
B3aaca— 6elica w MOAGH,— 
TepkKaH 3HaA, 4TO B STOH CxBaTKE 
Ou caaber: He Te xapun. 


EcTb BOMHBI 3aKOH He HOBBIH: 
B OTCTYIIA€Hbe — ellIb ThI BAOBOAL, 


THE DUEL 


Strong, fast-moving was the German, 
Tough as nails and hard as rock, 
Steady as an iron-shod carthorse, 
Quite immune to fear or shock. 


Shaved, well-fed, well cared for, he: 
Bedded, boarded, all for free; 

Sort of uninvited guest, 

Glowing from a warm night’s rest. 


He struck out in deadly earnest — 
Not a blow that could nave missed. 
Massive in the Russian mitten, 
Like a hambone was his fist.... 


It was all too clear he wasn’t 
Playing hide-and-seek with death. 
Tyorkin knew himself the weaker: 
Short of food and short of breath. 


There’s a ey rule: 
In retreat, your belly’s full, 


130 


B o6o0poHe— Tak AM CAK, 
B wacTynaeHbe — naTousak. 


Hemely CTYKHYA Tak, 4YTO FEAIOCTh 
byaATO BiampaBo MoOsaAach. 

Vt toraa oeu, He ITCAACh, 
XPACHYA HeEMIJa NpOMeX Lraa3. 


VW emje Ha CHer He CIAWHYA 
Ileppol KpOBH 3Ayl0 COAB, 
Hemel CHOBa B CaHKM CYHYA 

C Tro xe cHAOH, B Ty xe Bonn. 


Tak COULAMCb, clemMANCH 6An3KO, 
Uto ye o60HMEI, AHCKH, 
ABTOMAaTBI— K ¥epTy, MpouD! 
ToabKo 6 HO HM MOr TIOMO4D. 


bpwtca ABoe B KAy6ax Mapa, 
O6 uHOM yxXe HE pedb,— 
Aagut Tepxnu oT yaapa 
XoTb On 3y6nr 3a6epe4n. 


Ho noxyga Tepkui caHku 
CKOAbBKO MOT 

B 6ow Geper, 

ABuHyA HEMEL, TOUHO WITaHron, 
{ja He B CaHKH, 

A T1104 B340x. 


Oxnya Tepkuu: ma0xo geao, 
TTaoxo, aymaeT 6oeu. 
Xopouio, ao AeroK TEAOM — 
Otraetea. A TO 6— Kkonel... 


YcTOAA—¥ CaM C HCIIyry 
TepkuH HeMLUy daa Aetsa, 
Tak aro co6cTBeHHy pyky 
UytTb He BBIHEC 3 MAe4a. 


Yepr c net! Pag, aTo He Ipoma3aa, 
XOTb 3y6aM He MOAOH CueT, 


131 


Half and half on the defensive, 
Tighten belts for the offensive. 


awbone jolted to the right. 
winging hard, he bashed the other 
"Twixt the eyes with all his might. 


Javb smote, and Tyorkin felt his 


Hardly had he finished spitting 
Out the first salt, crimson drops, 
When Fritz landed yet another 
Vicious clout across the chops. 


So they fought, forgetting guns, 
Magazines and cartridge drums. 
They were fighting for their lives — 
Nothing useful now but knives! 


Wreathed in clouds of steam they battled, 
And it’s an undoubted fact, 

Tyorkin did some skilful dodging 

Just to keep his teeth intact. 


Then, while Tyorkin kept his molars 
Under guard 

As they sparred, 

He was biffed as with a bell-bar 

In the solar 

Plexus — hard. 


Tyorkin gasped. “You nearly had it. 
This is not so good,” thought he. 
“Just as well I’m light, or that one 
Could have been the end of me....” 


But he stood his ground, and very 
Nearly wrenched his left arm out, 
As he hooked and dealt the German 
One terrific, desperate clout. 


ust as well I didn’t miss him! 
at's a molar more or less, 


132 


Ho wu HeMely ACBLIM TAa30M 
Ha6aidAeHbs He BeJZET. 


Apaxa— Apaka, He urpyuka! 
XOTb OFHEM TOPHT AKO, 

Ho w HeMely KpacHoH 1OWIKOH 
PasykpallieH, Kak AKO. 


Bot 0H —B NOABepllike — NpOTHBHHK. 
Hocom k Hocy. Tecuota. 

fla yero Ke OH NpOTHBHEI — 

Alyx y Hema H30 pTa. 


3a06Ho TepkuH CIAIOHYA KpOBbW. 
Hy wu 3anax! Baant c Hor. 

AX ThI, CBOAOUb, JAA 3A0POBbA, 
He uHaye, *peulb 4ecHOK! 


Tat ky4a ChelmuA—K xo3niixe? 
Matxka, MaeKo? Matka, aliKku? 
Oxa3aTb pelliMa HaM 4eCTb? 
Tlogaspaui! A KTO TbI ecTh, 


Kro ThI €CTb, YTO K Hamel 6abKe 
SaABUACA Ha MOpor, 

. He cnpocacs, He CKMHYB WallKH 
Vi ue Betrepmnu canor? 


Co crapyxoli cAaauTb B CuAe? 
Tlogasau! Het, KTo Thi ecb, 
Uto zoaxun Te6e Bp Poccuu 
TlogaBaTb MBI IMTb HM eCTb? 


He kaaeka an y6oruit, 
Van gso6pritt weaonex — 
Sabay AHACA 

Ilo qopore, 
Tlonpocuaca 

Ha wouaer? 


Ao6prim AlOAAM AlOAH paabl. 
Hert, Th cam ce6e cHaeH. 


133 


With the left eye of that German 
Looking just about u-s.! 


Fight it out in deadly earnest. 
Though your skin feels all ablaze, 
Ruddy as a painted eggshell 

Is the adversary’s face. 


Half an inch away, the stinker, 
Almost as if cheek to cheek, 

And what makes him twice a stinker 
Is that nauseating reek. : 


Tyorkin spits more blood in fury. 

hat a perfume! Knocks you flat! 
Slob! So you’ve been eating garlic 
As a cold-cure, that’s a fact! 


You've barged in to some old lady. 
Eggsky, milksky? Nice food, lady? 
Very gracious of you, too. 

Help yourself. But who are you? 


Who are you, to walk in that wa 
Through some Russian housewife’s door, 
Uninvited, with your hat on, 

And your boots unwiped, what’s more? 


Can you cope with an old woman? 
Help yourself! But who are you 
That in Russia we should serve you 
Food and drink, as it were due? 


Some old cripple in a poor way, 
Or some other honest wight, 
Lost and helpless 

In the doorway, 

Seeking shelter 

For the night? 


We will welcome folk who’re honest, 
But not you: you live by force. 


134 


Th HaBOAHUIb 
Cao nopsox. 
Ts UpHxo4umb— 
TBow 3aKOH. 


KTo % TH ecTb? Mue ToAky HeTYy, 
Yeh Th ChIH HW Ye OTET. 
Yeaosek MO BCeM IIpHMeTaM,— 
Yeaosek Thi? Her. Iogaen! 


Apoe Ton4yTca Mo xpyry, 
CAOBHO Mapa Ha Kpyry, 

VW raaaart B raa3a Apyr Apyry: 
SBepio — 3Bepb H Bpar—Bpary. 


Kak Ha ApeBHem noe 608, 

lpyab Ha rpydb, 4TO WAT Ha WyAT,— 
BmecTo THicay 6biOTCA ABOE, 

CAOBHO CxBaTkKa BCe pemur. 


A B6an3u OT AepeBylkuH, 
Tae 3acTaax ux CBeT AHeEBHOH, 
CaMOAeTHI, TAHKH, TyIKH 

Y o6o0nx 3a cnMHo;n. 


Ho 4o 608 HeT uM geaa, 

Mf 4M 3BykKa C Tex CTOpon. 

B OAHHOUKY — rpyAbwo, TeAOM 
Beetca Tepxuu, Aepxkut pout. 


Ha nmeaaabHOM TOM 3aABOpKe, 

Y NOKMHYTHIX ABOpOB 

Alepxut dpont Bacuanii Tepxkuu, 
B 3a6niTbu raotaa KPOBB. 


Bperca HacMepTb mapenb Opasniii, 
Tak 4TO AbIM CTOHT CBIpOH, 
CAOBHO BCA CTpaHa-AepxaBa 
Buaut Tepxuna: 

— Tepoi! 


135 


You would grind us, 
Trample on us, 

You would bind us 
With your laws. 


Who are you? What matter if you're 
Someone’s father, someone’s son? 
Human by all indications, 

Are you human? No, you’re scum! 


Two men stamping in a circle, 
Like two dancers, round they go, 
Glaring grimly at each other, 
Beast at beast, and foe at foe, 


Like some ancient scene of combat, 
Breast to breast like shield to shield, 
Settling the fate of thousands 
Drawn up on the battlefield. 


Close beside the little hamlet 

Where dawn overtook the pair, 

Aircraft, guns and tanks were thundering 
All around them, front and rear. 


Little cared they for, that battle. 
Hardly conscious of a sound, 
Tyorkin fought with chest and body, 
Held his front and stood his ground. 


In that dismal, wretched backyard 
Where the empty houses stood, 

dyorkin held his ground, in fury 
Choking down his own hot blood. 


Unafraid of death he battled, 

Clouds of steam hung in the air. 

All the world might have been watching 
Tyorkin—that’s a hero there! 


136 


Uro crpana! Xora 6pr pota 
BugeTb 434aAK MOPaAa, 
Kakosa ero pa6ota 

VI kaxue TyT Jeaa. 


Toabko Tepkuu He B obnJe. 
He 3aTeM Ha CMepTb Henib, 
Uro6pl KTO-Hu6yAb yBHAeA. 
Xopomo 6. A HeT—HY 4TO X... 


bbeTca HacMepTb "apeHb 6paByri — 
Tak, Kak 6bIOTCA Ha BOMHE. 

VU yxe pykolo mpason 

Ou BaageeT HE BIOAHE. 


Koctb ryAMT OT paHbl cTapon, 
Vi emy, uTo6 xpenye Outs, 
Yrobsl caepa KAaCTb yAapyl, 
Xopouio 6 aepmio1w O6biTs. 


Bretca Tepkuu, 

B apake 30pxui, 

YTMpaeT KpOBb H NOT. 
H3nemor, yOnaca Tepxuu, 
Ho u spar yxe He TOT. 


fjaAekoO He Ta 3alpaBxa, 
VW no6uta mopaa Bea, 
CAOBHO AOAOKO-NOAABKA, 
UtTo HHave CCTb HEAb3A. 


Kpopb— cocyAbKamMnu. Ognako 
B cambli Kap BCTyNaeT Apaka. 


Hemey rop4. 

VU Tepxun ropa. 

— Pa3 Th tec, Tak a—co6aka, 
Pas ThI ¥epT, 

Tak cam A—uept! 


TI HE 3HaA MOI HaTypy, 

A HaTypa—Nlepspiit copT. 

B KAOUbA WIKypy — 

Tepkuu uypy 

He nonpocut. Bot rage uept! 


137 


Why the world, when just an Army 

Company would be enough, 

{ust so long as ey were watching 
asya Tyorkin do his stuff! 


But he didn’t mind— not really. 
You don’t fight a mortal fight 

In the hope that folk are watching. 
If they aren’t —well, that’s all right! 


Unafraid of death he battled, 
As men fight in time of war, 
And his right arm was already 
Feeling weaker than before. 


Yes, the old wound in his shoulder.... 
And to hit with all his might, 

Better to have been left-handed; 

Left could do the work of nght. 


Tyorkin battled, watchful, wary, 
Dashing off the sweat and blood, 
Tiring now, and getting weary.... 
Nor did Jerry look so good; 


Not as lively as he had been, 

With his snout bashed up a treat, 
Like an apple, bruised and battered, 
Looking hardly fit to eat. 


Icicles of blood on each. 
Now the fight nears fever pitch. 


ferry’ proud, and Tyorkin, too. 
evil, are you? Son-of-a-bitch? 
I can play it worse than you! 


You don’t know the stuff I’m made of. 
Let me tell you, it’s Grade One. 

Flay me, but I won’t cry mercy. 

How’s that for a devil, chum! 


138 


Kro oguoli 6outTca cMepTu— 
KTo MAe€BaA Ha CTO CMepTen. 
Ilycrb TH wept. Aja Haim uepTu 
Bcex aepren 

B cro pa3 uepten. 


bet, ne MuAyi. Sy6nr cTHCHY. 
A y6penlb,TaK 4 MOTOM 

Ha Te6e, Kak KALI, NOBHCHY, 
MeptTsuiit 6yazy Ha %KHBOM. 


Orocnucb Ha MHe, Oby4b AaCKOB, 
fla cBaAM MeHA Breped. 


Ax, TBI BOH Kak! /[paTbcA KacKOH? 
Hy we noganii Aw Hapog! 


Xopomo «xe! — 

M rorga-To, 
SAocTb H 60Ab 3a6paB B KyAak, 
He3apaxenHou rpanaTon 
TepkuH HeMuja—c repo — mIMAK! 


Hemey oxHyA H OOMAK... 


TepkuH BOpoT Hapacnaillky, 
TepkKuH Cea, rAOTaeT CHer, 
CMOTpuT rpyCcTHO, ABILIHT TAKKO,— 
Tlopaboraa weaosex. 


XOpolo, APy3bA, IPHATHO, 
CaeaaB ACA, KO ABOpy — 

B 6aTaabou HATH ob6paTHo 
V3 paspeqxu noyTpy. 


Ilo 3eMae CTymaTb CoBeTCKOHN, 
ZlyMaTb— Maao Au O YeM! 
ABTOMAaT HECTH HEMELKHH, 
Mex ay mpounmM, 3a mAedoM. 


«A3bKa» — AO6ny HOUN,— 
UtTo udet, kyJa He xouer, 


139 


Some fear even once to die, 

Some a thousand deaths defy. 
Devil, are you? Well, this devil 
Is a hundred times more evil! 


Do your worst. I'll grin and bear it. 
Kill me, and I'll burrow in 

Like a sheep-tick, clinging to you, 
Dead beneath your living skin. 


Sleep on me. I'll be your pillow; 
But you'll have to throw me first! 


So! You'd butt me with your helmet? 
Might have known you'd do your worst! 


Fury lending extra power 

To his arm, he drew it back, 

Snatched an unprimed hand-grenade and 
Dealt the German such a crack! 


Jerry crumpled like a sack.... 


Tyorkin wrenched his collar open, 
Sat, and cooled his mouth with snow. 
Glumly eyed the German, panting. 
That’s a job well done. Good show. 


When you've been successful, comrades, 
It’s a grand experience, 

Going back to your battalion 

From the night’s reconnaissance. 


Crossing Soviet territory, 
Thinking — oh, well, never mind.... 
Incidentally, with a German 
Sub-machine gun slung behind. 


Your reluctant prisoner walking 
(He might do a bit of talking) 


140 


Ha Tpu mara suepeau 
Hogrowatp: 
— Van, uan... 


Buaetb, 3HaTb, UTO KaxK ABI BCTPe4HbIit- 
TlonepeyHbii — 9TO cCBon. 

He 3Hakom, a pag cepgeqHo, 

4TO BepHYACA THI XMBOH. 


AOAOKUTb ipo Bce 110 ope, 
CyaTb Tpodex He cneuia. 

A TloToM Te6a NOKOpMAT,— 
bygeT Mepow Ayia. 


CrapmimHa OTNYCTHT 4apky, 
Crpornit raa3 B Hee KOCA. 
A NOTOM y NeukM *KapKoii 
Asr, nocnv. Boitua ue Bca. 


@MpouT HaaesBo, pouT Halpaso, 
VB hepparbcKOW BbIOKHOHM MTAe 
CrpamHpl 6oH ugetT, KpoBaBslii, 
CmeptTHpiit 60H He pag CAaBHI, 
Paav 2%KM3HH Ha 3eMAe. 


141 


Only three short steps ahead.... 
“Come on, move it now, I said!” 


Knowing that they’re all your own men 
Whom you meet along the way. 

They don’t know you, but they’re happy 
That you’ve made it back okay. 


Then reporting, as per orders, 
Handing in the captured gun— 
Then you get a slap-up dinner, 
Just reward for what you’ve done. 


Then the S.-M. grants a noggin, 
Looking on, suspicious-eyed. 

By a blazing stove in comfort 
Sleep. The war’s not over yet. 


In the snows of February, 

With a front on either hand, 
Fight the battle, ae and gory, 
Not for fame and not for glory, 
But for life throughout the land. 


142 


OT ABTOPA 


Cro cTpaHMl] MHHYAO B KHWKKe, 
Bnepeau— ue 6an3KHH MyTB. 
Cron-ka, 6pat. bes nepeapnmKn 
Heso3mMoxno. Ala B3A0XHyTb. 


Ajai B3AOXHYTb, BO3bMH B JOragKy: 
Uro Tellepb, 4TO B CrapHay — 
TpyaHo CAymaTb 10 NOpsAAKy 
Cxa3ky AAHHHY!IO OAHY 

Bce npo To *xe— po Bony. 


IIpo oronb, mpo cHer, po TaHKH, 
IIpo 3eMAAHKM Ja NOPTAHKH, 
ITpo NOpTAHKM Ja 3CMAAHKH, 
IIpo Maxopky mM MOpos... 


Bot yx HBIH¥Ye MOBeAOCh: 
Pui6aky AMIIb O NYTHHE, 
Ilequuxy AyAAT O ranue, 
Aecuuky 0 Apesecuue, 
XaeOoreky 0 KBalllHe, 
Konosaay 0 KoHe, 


FROM THE AUTHOR 


That’s a hundred pages covered; 
There’s a long, long road ahead. 
Can’t go on without a breather; 
Time to have a rest instead. 


Yes, a rest. It’s reasonable. 

Now, as in the days of yore, 

It grows tiresome hearing someone 
Hoiding forth for hours and more 
On the same old theme of war; 


Holding forth on things like these: 
Shellfire, snow, tanks and puttees, 
Dug-outs, tanks and more puttees, 
Frost, makhorka, tanks once more.... 


That’s the way it goes: they bore 
Fishermen with fishing seasons, 
Furnacemen with talk of fireclays, 
Foresters with different woods, 
Bakers with their different goods, 
Knackers with old horses’ hides, 


144 


A bonny an, reHepaay — 
He uHaye —O BOHHE. 


O pone — OHO TIOHATHO, 

Uro Bowua. A CyTb B Apyrom: 
{jai c' BOHHEI IpuTH oOpaTHO 
IIpu no6ege Haq Bparom. 


YuMHMB 3a BCe paciaaty, 

{jai BepHyTBCA B AOM pogHon 
Yeaosexy. M1 rorga-To 
Cka3kM HeT eMy “HOH. 


Vi rorga emy Tak cAaqKo 

pyact cAyUIaTb 10 NOpagky 
Tl0Apo6Ho 060 Bcem, 

UTo u3Besano rop6om, 

Uro ucxookeHo HOraMH, 

To ucnbiTaHo pykaMy, 

Uro nosudzaHo B raa3a 

Vo eM, Apy3ba, NoKamMectT 

Bce paBHo— Bcero HeABA... 


Mep3anii rpyHT goa6u, aomata, 
TaHk— Aas, Tr peMu —rpanata, 
Ultb1K — paborai, 6om6a— 6eit. 
Ha spowne Ayule coAgatTa 
Cka3Ka MMpHaa Muael. 


Alpyr-autaTeab, A AM Cnopi, 
UTO BOMHE] MHA€e HKY3Hb: 

Ja Boliua peser, kak Mope, 
lposno B AamOy ye puIvcb. 


A oqHo cKaxy, ITO HaM 6pI 
TloynpaButTbca c BOnHOH, 
OroaBunyTs sty sam6y 

3a mpegea 3eMAu poqHoH. 


A noxy4a Kpai o6mupunrii 

Tot 3eman poaHOoK—B MaAeny, 
A— AMO6UTEAL KH3HU MHpHOK — 
Ha potiue now BOHMHy. 


145 


And the general or the soldier 
With unending tales of war. 


War is war, needs no explaining. 
No, the answer is elsewhere: 

Let the soldier go back homewards 
When there’s victory in the air. 


Let him go back to his family 

When he's settled up the score. 

That’s when you will find him wanting 
Tales of nothing else but war. 


Then he'll lend a willing ear, 

Then he truly loves to hear 

How he never thought to shirk, 

How his back was bowed with work, 
How his feet were tired and poorly, 
How his hands were tried most sorely, 
How his eyes were to behold 

Things the like of which are surely 
Meanwhile better left untold. 


Spades may split the ground asunder, 
anks may crush, grenades may thunder, 

Bayonets lunge and shrapnel flail, 

But in time of war, the soldier 

Much prefers a peacetime tale. 


Reader, friend, do I deny that 

Life is sweeter far than war? 

But war’s like the sea waves pounding 
At the dike with booming roar. 


All I want to say, quite simply, 
Is, the future’s in our hands. 

We must push that sea wall further 
Back beyond our borderlands. 


While so much of our great country 
Lies in thraldom languishing, 

Lover of the joys of peacetime, 
War in time of war I sing. 


146 


Uro «* euje? HW sce, nomaayh, 
Ta *e KHura po 6ona. 

Be3 nayaaa, 6e3 Kona, 

Bes oco6boro cioxerta, 
Bnpouyem, lipaBae He BO Bped. 


Ha Botine cioxKeTa HETY. 
— Kak Tak HeTy? 
— Tak BOT, HeT. 


Ectb 32KOH — CAYKUTb JO Cpoka, 
Cayx6a— Tpyd, COAgaT — He Foctp. 
Ectb or60 — ycuya ray6oxKo, 

Ectb mojbeM — BCKOYMA, KaK FBO3Ab. 


Ectb BOMHa—COAAAaT BOLOET, 
AloT NpOTHBHHK— CaM AIOTYET. 
EcTb curHaa: Bieped!..— Buepeg. 
EcTb ipHka3: ympn!..— Ymper. 


Ha spotive HM AHA, HM aca 
He «user on 6e3 NpuKka3a, 

VW sHe MomeT HCNOKOH 

be3 mpuHka3a KOMaHAMpa 

Hu CMeHHTb CBOW KBapTHpy, 
Hu CMeHMTh NOpTAHKH OH. 
Hu #®eHUTSCA, HH BAIOONTKCA 
On He MOKET,— HETy pas, 
Hu yexatTb 3a rpaHuyy 

Or ao6BH, Kak 6piBMH rpad. 


Ecanw B MeCHAX HW MoeTCca, 
Pa3Be MOXHO OpaTb B pacae;rT, 
Uro repo Mow y Koaogua, 

Y kakux-HubyAb BOpoT, 

byae cayyal MoABepHerca, 
Ub-TO AOAIO yuyMMHeT? 


A euje 406aBHM K CAOBY: 
*KuB-340poB repo noKa, 
Ho oTHwWdb HE 3AKOAAOBAaH 
Or OcCKOAKa-Ay paka, 


147 


What comes next? More chapters, doubtless, 
Of this soldier’s story penned — 

No beginning and no end, 

And no plot; however, strictly 

True to life, so no harm done. 


There’s no plot in war to speak of? 
Why? 
Because there isn’t one. 


There’s a law: sweat out your service - 
Sure, it’s no vacation time! 

Come Tattoo, turn in, sleep soundly; 
Come Reveille, rise and shine! 


War— the soldier fights in style. 

Enemy’s tough — he's tougher still. 
Signal: Forward! He'll go forward. 
Orders: Die! He’ll die as ordered. 


Not one hour of day is your time 
Without orders when it’s wartime, 
And, as Army life decrees, 

Without your commander’s orders 
You can’t change your living quarters, 
You can’t even change puttees. 

You can’t fall in love, or marry, 

Or to foreign lands depart, 

Like a lovesick Count aforetime 
Suffering from a broken heart. 


Let my hero be forgiven 

If he takes a liberty, 

And, as in the folk-songs, waiting 

By some well or garden, he 

Grabs the chance to pinch the fruit from 
Someone else’s apple-tree. 


And we'll add, just for the record, 
Though our hero’s live and well, 
He is not immune to senseless 
Splinter from some bomb or shell, 


148 


Or aw6on AypayKon nyan, 
Urto, ObITb MOXeT, HayTad, 

Kak MpHllAOcb, ACTHT BCAETIYHO, 
Tloapepxyaca,— Touka, 6par. 


Betep 30H HaBCTpe4y MEIIeT, 
JKu3Hb, Kak BETOUKY, KOABIMET, 
Kaman JeHb HW 4aC rpo3a. 

KTo AocKaxKeT, KTO AOCAMIUHT — 
YragaTb Bleped HeEAB3A. 


H 40 Tok rayxon pasayku, 
Uro 6bipaeT Ha BOHHE, 
Paccka3aTb euje Oo Apyre 
Koe-aTo ycneTb On MHe. - 


Tem #*xe AaqoM, Tem xe p#40M, 
TOAbKO CT@KKOW HHO. 


ITymxu x 60% egyT 3a40M,— 
OTO CKa3aHO He MHOH. 


149 


Or to any stupid bullet 

That, perhaps, may chance to come 
Flying blindly and at random — 
Suddenly —you’ve had it, chum! 


There’s an evil wind a-blowing, 

Like a branch, life’s bending, bowing, 
Death rides in that howling gale, 
And there is no way of knowing 
Who will live to tell the tale. 


But, before the dread departure 
That occurs in time of war, 

Of our friend and gallant hero 
I would like to tell you more, 


Keeping up the lilt and measure, 
Following a different line. 


Guns ride backwards into battle — 
No, the saying isn’t mine! 


150 


«KTO CTPEAAA?» 


Otanmuaca 6on BuepallHHi, 
Bpicox MOT, M€TaAA MpocTHIA. 
OT oKOoNO0B MaxHeT NalHen, 
JAeTOM MHPHbIM HM MpoctbiM. 


B moazepcte, B KycTaxX — IpOTHBHHK, 
TyT wiaraM 4 TAAAM CuerT. 

@pont. Boiiua. A Beyep AMBHBI 

Ilo moAKM NycTHIM MAeT. 


Ilo caeaam CTpadbl BuepallHen, 
Ilo HeMbICAMMOH Tpone; 
Tlo HuubeH, NOMATOH, 3PALUHOH 
Ayropou, rycroH Tpase; 


Ilo semae, px6ou oT prTBHH, 
PBaHbIx AM, BOPOHOK, pBOB, 
CMepTHBIM 3HOeM *KapKOH OUTBHI 
OnaaeHunlx y Kpaes... 


M orxyga no nyctomy 
JloneTea, AoHeCcA 3BYK, 


“WHO DID THAT?” 


After yesterday’s fierce battle, 
Smoke, hot metal, sweat and grime, 
From the trenches comes the earthy 
Smell of peaceful summertime. 


No-man’s-land for half a verst, then 
Thickets and the watching Huns. 
War. The Front. And yet the evening 
Sweet across the meadows comes, 


Following yesterday’s grim harvest, 
Over an appalling scene, 

Dead terrain of squashed and trampled 
Meadow grasses, lush and green; 


Over wheel-tracks, ditches, craters, 
Hollows ripped out of the ground, 
By the murderous blast of battle 
Scorched their jagged edges round. 


And, across that desolation, 
Borne incongruous through the air, 


152 


Alo6pri, 4aBHH MW 3HaKOMBIi 
3ByK BeyepHui. Malicxuit «yx! 


Vs wenyxXHOK TOppKOH AacKoH 
PacTpeBOKUA OH pebart, 

UtTo B pocow NOKpsITHX KacKkax 
Ilo OKOIN4HKaM CHAAT. 


VM Tako TOckoH po,HolW 
Cepaye cpa3y o6Bo0a0K! 


@pont, Bolina. A TyT HHOE: 
Bsipogv KOHeH B HOUHOE, 
Toponuch Ha «MATayOK>». 


OTMAAUINCh, a TaM CTOPOHKO!i 
Yaaaniica B Oepe3Hak, 
Hposomah somo A€BUOHKy 
Aja yeayi— ne 6yab aypak, 
Haaerke uqu o6partuo, 

MatTb 3a aaaaca... 


VM papyr— 
Baaaeke BO3HHK HEBHATHBIH, 
Hosni, Homi, ABYKpaTHBIii, 
Yepe3 Mur ye NOHATHHIM 
Hi Tomamuit Ayuly 3Byx. 


SBYyK TOT CaMBI, pH KOTOPOM 
B m1pupoxTosor moaoce 
Tlonagaay Bce mode pH 
Pa36eraAncb OT mocce. 


Ha ogHow nNocTtMAoH HOTe 
Hoet, BoeT, Kak B Tpy6e. 
MM 6exatTb pu sce Oxore 
He noaoxeno Te6e. 


Thi, Kak TBO34b, Ha 9TOM B3ropKe 
B6uaca B 3emai0. He Tocxyii. 
Beab— coraacno noropopKe — 
Oro Maan caGaHTyii... 


153 


Came a dear old friendly evening 
Sound —a May bug burring there! 


Up and down the trenches, men in 
Helmets wet with dew were stirred 
To a rueful and reluctant 
Tenderness by what they heard. 


Such nostalgia, such longing 
Overcame them all at once! 


War. The Front. Thoughts homeward turning: 
Drive the horses out till morning, 
Hasten to the village dance. 


Dance your fill, then slip off quietly 
Through the birch grove, dim and cool. 
See the girl home to her cottage, 

Go on, kiss her now, you fool! 

Then go sauntering back at leisure: 
Mother’s waiting.... 


Suddenly, 
Comes a new sound, faint and distant, 
Low, deep-throbbing and insistent, 
Tedious, naggingly persistent, 
And you know it instantly. 


Once it used to send the drivers, 
As they neared the front-line zone, 
Scattering from the open highway 
Just as fast as they could run. 


Now it drones, as in a chimney, 
Tedious, maddeningly loud, 
And, however much you want to, 
You can’t run. It’s not allowed. 


Hug the earth, pinned down, defenceless, 


Just don’t let it worry you. 
After all, you know the ex pression — 


It’s a minor sabantu. 


154 


JKAYT, MOAUAT, rAAAAT pebata, 
3 Ost CKaB, 4TOO APOXKb HATE. 
v4 Kak BOAMTCA, OpaTOp 

TyT HaxOgMTCcA MOg CTaTb. | 


C yausuTeabHon 3a60T0r 
Iloacxa3atTp Te6e ropasg: 

— Bor celiyac on c pa3sBopota 
VM uwaunertr. VW xu3ym aact. 
*Ku3HH Zact! 


Co crpaliHbIM peBom 
CaMOaeT HBIPACT BHHS, 
Vs cwabuee HeTy CAoBa 
To KoMaHdbI, 4TO TOTOBAa 
Ha ycrax y Bcex: 
— Aonncp!.. 


CmepTb ecTb cmepTn. Ee npuxoga 
Bce Mb *K4eM MO CTapHHe. 

A B Kakoe BpeMa roga 

Aerue ru6HyTp Ha BOHHe? 


AeTOM COAHIe rpeeT *Kapko, 
Vs actynaeT B NOAHBIM WBeT 
Bce xpyrom. HW xH3HM 2KaAKO 
flo sapesy. AeToM— Het. 


B oceHb CMepTb 104 CTaTb KapTHHe, 
B con WAeT Npupoda BCA. 

Ho B rpa3nH, B OKOMHOM rawHe 
Bapyr 3arnyteca? Het, apy3pa... 


A 3HMOM — 3eMAA, KaK KaMeHb, 
Ha asa Metpa rayOuHoi, 
IIpupaant Te6a KOMKaMH,— 
Het yx, Hy ee — 3HMoi. 


A BecHoi, pecnoi... Ja rae Tam, 
Ayumle ckakeM Halleped: 

Ecau roppkKo ru6uyTb AeToM, 
Ecaw oceHbW — HE Me4, 


155 


Silent, waiting, all the soldiers 
Clench their teeth, try not to shake. 
And, as usual, one real genius 
Finds a bight remark to make. 


His solicitude’s amazing, 

As he says to one and all: 

‘Watch him! When he’s finished circling, 
He’ll come in and have a ball!” 

Have a ball! 


Down he comes roaring. 
It’s a terrifying sound, 
And there’s nothing more compelling 
Than the order they’re all yelling 
As one man: “Get down!” 
“Get down!” 


Death is death. We all expect it 
As the appointed time draws near. 
But for etting killed in wartime, 
What’s the easiest time of year? 


Warmly shines the sun in summer, 

And, wherever you may go, 

All’s in bloom. The thought’s heart-rending... 
Leave this life in summer? No! 


Autumn seems more likely. Nature 
Thinks of sleep as summer ends. 
But to take a tumble in those 
Filthy trenches? No, my friends.... 


Winter binds the earth rock-solid 
Six feet down; and suddenl 

You're entombed in slabs of topsoil. 
Thank you, winter’s not for me. 


But in springtime, but in springtime... 
Here we might as well admit: 

If it’s bitter in the summer, 

If in autumn it’s not sweet, 


156 


Ecav B 3HMY APOKb SeperT, | 
To BecHOH, APy3bA, OT STOK 
TlogaoH wryKu— Aylly pBeT. 


Vi kakoit Tht BAPyr NOKOPHBIA 
Ha rpy4k A@KHUIb 3€MHOH, 

3acAOHACh OT CMepTH 4epHOK 
Toabko co6cTBeHHOM CIMHOH, 


Tbl A@KHIUb HHYKOM, NapHHUiKa 
AjpaAlaTH HEMOAHBIX ACT. 

Bor ceiiuac Te6e “ Kpbillka, 
Bot Te6a yxe u HET. 


TH MpwKaA K BHCKaM AaJOHH, 
Tor 3a6n1a, 3a6b1A, 3a0B1A, 
Kak TpaBy IJHiaAM KOHH, 
UrTo B HOYHOE Th BOAHA. 


CmepTb rpoxoyeT B Nepenonkax, 
VW sqaaek, Aaaex, Aaaek 

Beyep TOT u Ta AeByOHKa, 

Yro AwO6ua TH H Geper. 


UV sapysei u 6anu3KHx Ana, 
ZloM pogHoi, cy4OK B CTeHE... 
Het, 60ey, HHUKOM MOAMTBCA 
He roantca na BOHHE. 


Hert, Topapuiy, 300 4 ropso, 
Kak 3aKOH BeAHT Oo), 

CmepTb BCTpeyaii AHIJOM K AMI, 
Vi xota Ont MAIOHb efi B MOpdy, 
Ecan BCe IIpHINAO K KOHL)... 


Hy-ka, 4To 3a NepemMeHa? 
To ne myTKH— 60H uazer. 
BctTaa OAHH MH 6beT C KOAeHAa 
V3 BHHTOBKH B CaMOAeT. 


pox Aunelinan BHHTOBKa 

a OpeseHTOBOM peMue, 

fla NaTpousl C TOK TOAOBKOH, 
Uto crpamHa craabHon 6poue. 


157 


If in winter it’s cold feet, 
Then the thought of death in springtime 
Bids to break the heart indeed. 


Nuzzling the earth, you lie there 
Cowed, subdued, with bated breath; 
Nothing but your back between you 
And a very nasty death. 


Just a lad not yet turned twenty, 
ing helpless, flattened prone. 

ere it comes. This time you've had it! 
You’re a goner now, my son! 


Hands pressed tightly to your temples, 
You forget, forget, forget 
How the horses champed the grasses 
When you turned them out at night. 


Death is roaring in your eardrums. 
Far, far, far away, 

Is the evening, and the girl you 
Cared for more than words could say. 


Faces of your friends and loved ones, 
Home, the knotty timber wall... 

No, lad! Praying prone in wartime 
Isn’t going to help at all! 


No! And if the arrogant, evil 

Laws of war should so command, 
Look death in the eye, my friend, 
Show that you can still defy it, 
Though you know this is the end.... 


Wait! The situation’s altered! 
Someone’s hitting back again, 
Kneeling, firing with his rifle 
At the enemy aeroplane. 


{ust the usual soldier’s rifle 

ith a canvas webbing sling, 
But with armour-piercing bullets 
That will go through anything. 


158 


Bott HepaBHEii, 60% KOpoTKHi. 
CaMoaeT 4y2KOH, C KpecToM, 
TlokadHyAca, TOUHO AOAKA, 
SayepnHyspiuan Goptom. 


Haxpenach, nomen Mo Kpyry, 
KysbipkaeTca Haq AYTOM,— 

e 3aA4epxuBali — Japan, 
B 3€MAl0 WITONOpOM BBeE3Kali! 


Cam CTpeAOK TAAAHT C HCMYyroM: 
UTo Hajeaaa HeEB3HayaH. 


CKOpocTHOoH, BOeHHEIM, 4YepHEIH, 
Cop peMeHHBIN, ABYXMOTOPHBIM 
CamMoaeT —CTaAbHaa CHaCTb— 
YXHYA B 3€MAI0, 3aBbIBas, 

Iap 3emHow NpoOuTh x*eAan 
Vs Amepuky nonacts. 


— He npo6ma, crapaaca caa6bo. 
— Buauo, ecto nporagaa. 


— Kro crpeasa? — 3B0HAT 43 HITaba.— 
Kro cTpeaaA, kyfa moma? 


AAbwOTaHTH 3EMAIO POT, 
AjsiumuT B Tpy6xy reHepaa. 
— Pa3nickaTb TOT4AaC repoa. 
Kro cTpeasa? 

A KTO CTpeaAna? 


Kro He CIPATAACA B OKONMUHK, 
TlomuHaa BCcex pOgHHx, 

Kro oH —cBOK Cpean cBOnxX— 
He 3e€HHTUMK UM HE ACTUHK, 

A repoi— ne xyoke ux? 


Bot OH CaM CTOMT C BHHTOBKOH, 
Bot no3qpaBuan ero. 

V kak 6yyTo BceM HeEAOBKO— 
Hen3BecTHo OTuero. 


159 


Duel unequal, soon decided. 

{err , with his painted cross, 
eeled half over, like a vessel 

That the angry storm-winds toss; 


Listing badly, turned and circled 
Overhead, then somersaulted, 

Come on, dive, don’t mess around — 
Corkscrew straight into the ground. 


And the marksman watched and marvelled.... 


Never thought he’d bring him down. 


Black, twin-screwed, formidable, 
Modern, fast, manoeuvrable, 

Painted with a swastika, 

Plunging headlong downwards, shrilling, 
As if he had hopes of drilling 

Right through to America. 


“Didn’t make it. Very feeble.” 
“Didn’t choose his spot, that’s plain!” 


HQ on the line: “Who did that? 
Find the man who got that plane!” 


Adjutants all in a tizzy, 

And the General roars again: 

“Find that hero quick! Who is he? 
Where’s the man who got that plane?” 


One who didn’t hide and cower, 
Crying for his family; 

ust a common soldier, he; 

o crack gunner or ace flier — 
But a hero anyway. 


So he stands there with his rifle 
As congratulations fly. 
Everybody seems embarrassed, 
No one knows exactly why. 


160 


BuHOBaTH, 4TO Ab, OTUACTH? 

Vs cka3aa CepKaHT Cipocta: 

— Bor yTo 3HauNT NapHo cuacTee, 
Tan Ab— MW OpseH, Kak C kycTa! 


He nmpome4AHBUIM C OTBETOM, 
Ilapeupb caaty mogaer: 

— He ropwwi, y nemyja 3TOT — 
He nocaeaHHu CaMOAeT... 


C 9TOH WyTKOH-NoroBopKoH, 
O6aetespmeh GaTaabou, 
Tlepemrea B repou Tepxun,— 
9TO 6bIA, MOHATHO, OH. 


161 


Are they feeling somewhat shamefaced? 
Says the Sergeant wrily, “Please, 

Help yourself. There’s nothing in it. 
Me at here just grow on trees!” 


Whereon the resourceful laddie 

Finds his comeback like a shot: 

“Don’t you worry, Sarge. That plane was 
Not the last one Jerry’s got!” 


This went round the whole battalion 
And caught on immediately. 
Tyorkin thus became a hero— 
Naturally, it was he. 


162 


O TEPOE 


— Her, mockoapky 0 Harpage 
Peub ONATh 3aMlAa, APy3ba, 
To yxe He MyTKH paqu 
Koe-aro go6aBaw A. 


Kak-To B rocnuTaae 6nIA0. 
fleub Aexy,.Aexy BTOpOH. 
KTO-TO CMOTPHT MHE B 3aTBIAOK, 
Tloranxy, a TO—repoit. 


Cam co6ouH, cKa3aTb,— MaAbYumIKa, 
He J0AeTOK-CTpHryHoOK. 

Vs MyTHT Me€HA MBICAMIIKA: 

Bot OH MOT, a # HE MOL... 


PasroBop HAeT Me@xK HaMH, 

Vs cmpocu a c nepBHX CAOB: 
— Bs oTKy4Za pogzomM camu— 
He u3 HamiMx AM KpaeB? 


CMOTpHT OH: 
— A Bh OTKy4a? — 


THE HERO 


No, my friends, since decorations 
Have come up again today, 

Let’s be serious for a moment: 
I've got something else to say. 


In the hospital it happened; 

I'd been there a day or so. 

Felt someone behind me, staring; 

Turned and looked, and — what d’you know! — 


Yes, a hero! Just a youngster, 
And I'll tell you honestly, 

That it got me kind of worried: 
Yes, he’d made it. As for me.... 


Anyway, we soon got talking, 

And I asked him nght away: 

‘Mind me asking where you come from? 
Happen you're from down my way?” 


Says he, staring: 
‘Where are you from?” 


164 


Otseuyab: 

— Tak H Tak, 

Cam Kak pa3 CMOAeHCKHH Oyay, 
MoxeT, AyMalo, 3eMAAK? 


AX IIpHBCTaA repon: 

— Hy aro su, 

UTo BsI,— BCKHHYA TOAOBOK,— 
Al kak pa3 u3-n04 Tam6oBa,— 
VW norporaa opfex cBon. 


VM symoaxnya. UW noxoxe, 
TloadepkuyTb XOTeA OH MHE, 
UtTo Takux, KaK OH, H€ MOKET 
BbITb B CMOACHCKOM CTOpOHe; 


Uto yK TaK OHH BOBeCKH 

Pa3AM4aloTCA MECTA, 

4To y HX py4bH HW peKH 
VY scama 3e€MAA He Ta, 

V1 noAAHKH, H IIpHropKn, 
V1 Ko3ABKH, H KYKH... 


HM xyaa TH, Bacbka Tepkun, 
Ae3ellb CAypy B 3eMAAKH! 


Tak AH, HET —CKa3aTb,— He 3Hab, 
TTOABKO MHE OT MBICAH TOK 
Cropona MOA pogHaa 

Tloxa3aaacb CHpoTon, 
CupoTHHKoi, 4TO He BAAHO 

Ha napoge, Ha KpyrTy... 


Tak MHe CTaAo BApyr o6ugHO,— 
PaccKa3aTb BaM He MOTY. 


OTO Aa, YTO A He TopaAHii 
Ilo xapaxtepy, a Bce * 
Bot Tellepb, Korga A OpseH 
Hanenaw, ckaxy «A: Bpewp! 


165 


So I says to him: 

“Why, me, 

I'd be sort of from Smolensk, like. 
Thought you might be too, maybe....” 


Then he stiffens. 

“Did you! 

Did you?” —coming over all stuck up. 
Then he taps the gong he’s wearing: 
“From Tambov.” And then shuts up. 


That was all. As if he wanted 
Just to sort of rub it in 

at the kind of place I come from 
Can’t produce the likes of him. 


That his home and mine were always 
Different as chalk and cheese; 

That you can’t compare their rivers, 
Streams, or farmland, if you please! — 
Not to mention hills and meadows, 
Insects, beetles, bugs and fleas... 


That'll teach you, Vasya Tyorkin, 
Trying to find who comes from where! 


Maybe I’m exaggerating, 
But it all seemed so unfair, 
ust as if my native country 

ight as well have not been there, 
Lost, forgotten, never mentioned, 
Never even called to mind.... 


Can't describe my feelings, fellers, 
But it all seemed so unkind. 


I’m not proud, as I keep saying, 
No, quite definitely not. 

But when I pin on my medal 

That'll teach our friend what’s what! 


166 


MbI B 3CEMAAUECTBO HE AeC3EM, 
EcTb CBOW y Hac Kpaa‘. 

Tri —TamOosckuh: byab ao6e3eu. 
A CMOACHCKHH — BOT OH A. 


He wHO#w Kako, HE SHCKHH, 
be3biMAHHBIM KOpelloK, 

A AeHCTBHT€ABHO CMOACHCKHH, 
Kak Apa3HHAM HaC, POKOK. 


He kn4yCcb pOgHbIM A Kpaem, 
Ho nponan Bech Sean cBeT — 
Kro B poxxku Te6e chirpaet 
Tak, Kak Halll CMOACHCKHH Jed. 


3aBedeT, 3aAyeT CHBaA 
Auxan 6opoga: 
Thi Ky4a, MOA KpacuBag, 
ya HWAeUulb, kya... 


Vi Begert, noet, 3a; pupaet — 
AaaHo, 4To 6e3 CAOB, 

Co cAe30 BbIrOBapHBaeT 
PagocTb w AIOOOBb. 


Vi 3a Ty o”Hy crapHHHyio 
3a My3bIKy-pO%KOK 

B kpaH pogHow AOpory AAMHHY!0 
Cro pa3 6p a mpomea. 


Mue He HaJo, 6paTuB, opdena, 
Mne CaAaBa He HyKHa, 

A HyxkHa, 60AbHa MHE, po4HHa, 

PoaHas cropona! 


167 


Each of us must come from somewhere. 
Fair enough. Leave well alone. 

From Tambov, you say? Oh, really! 
Near Smolensk, mate, that’s my home! 


I’m no nameless, numbered ticket: 

Use me once and throw me out, 

Take the shepherd’s pipe of those parts 
That they tease us all about. 


Say I’m boasting if you want to, 
But wherever you may roam, 

You won't find a better piper 
Than old grandad way back home. 


Pipe away, you jolly greybeard, 
Pipe a merry ditty: 

“Whither bound, o lovely lassie, 
Whither bound, my pretty?” 


Plays he lively, plays he blithely, 
Tells in wondrous wise 

Tales of joy and true love, bringing 
Teardrops to your eyes. 


I would make the homeward journey 
A hundred times and more, 
Just to hear that piper playing 
As in days of yore. 


I don’t long for medals, brothers, 
Glory’s not for me; 

All I long for is my kinfolk, 
And my own countree. 


168 


TEHEPAA 


3aHAAa BOMHa MOACBETA, 
CroH CTOWT BTOpoe AeTO. 
Onoscaa @poHT crpany. 
I'ae-ro Aagora... A rge-To 
AjouH—H TO xe Ha Jony... 


Tae-To aowaau B ylpsaxKe 

B cxaaax 3y6n1 ObioT 06 aed... 
Tae-To a6AoHA UBeTeT, 

VM Mopak B O4HOM TeABHALIKe 
Taujut crenbio nyaemet... 


lae-To 6om6ni Tonuyt ropog, 
TouyT Ha MOope cya... 
l'ge-To TaHKH Ae3yT B ropH, 
K Boare ABnHyAacb Gea... 


l'ae-ro, 6yaTo Ha 3a4BopKe, 

byATO 3HaTb po TO He 3HaA, 
a cBoem yuacTxe Tepknu 

B o6opone 3aropaa. 


THE GENERAL 


War full half the wide world over 
Groans into its second summer. 

Now the land is torn in two. 

Ladoga lies somewhere.... Somewhere 
Flows the Don.... A front there, too.... 


Somewhere in the hills, draft horses 
Slip on ice and smash their teeth.... 
Somewhere, apple trees are flowering, 
In his undervest, the sailor 

Hauls the gun across the heath. 


Somewhere, bombers raze a city, 

Ships are ae by the score.... 

Somewhere, tanks crawl through the mountains, 
Doom draws near the Volga’s shore.... 


As if in his own back garden, 
As if war were far away, 
Tyorkin, lazy with inaction, 
Dreams the idle hours away. 


170 


Y aecHOHw TAyxoH pesymKy, 

UtTo KaTHAaCbh BAOAb BOHHH, 
Tlocae 406pok nocrupymKu 
Ilopa3BpecwaA AAA Mpocyniku 

Tumuactepky 4 UITaHH. 


Ha mpnnexe oOHAA 3eMAN0. 
Pyxu BRIOpocHA Brieped 

Uh rexut WH TaK-TO ApeMaeT, 
Moxer GEHTS, 3a WeAbIM rod. 


Vs peaymKxa — neray6oxnit 
Po4HHKOBHK pyseek — 
IeseauT TpaBon-ocoKon 
Y ero pa3yTHIx HOF. 


VW kypanmet C THXOW AaCcKoHn, 
MoeT KaMyllIKH Ha AHe. 

VW sBHXxOAMT HE TO CKa3Ka, 

He To neceHka BO CHe. 


Al Ha peake HOrH BHIMOND. 
yaa, peyveHbkKa, Tewelllb? 
B cropoHuy MOW, poqMMyh, 
oxKeT, rje-HHOy4b CBepHellb. 


Moxer, rAe-HAby Ab H3AyY4HHOH 
Ilo nyTH 3a%Aems Tyaa, 

Vs nog MpOBOAOKOH KOAIUEIO 
IIpobepemsnca 6e3 Tpy sa, 


Mex HeMe€IJKHMH OKOIIaMH, 
Mumo sBpakKeckHx MOCTOB, 
Bo3ae nyuieK, B 3€MAIO BKOM@HHBIX, 
II poMeAbKHellIb 3-34 KyCTOB. 


HM Tponot cpaoek HcKOHHOW 
pOTelellb TH TaM, Kak TYT, 
Vi sun neuine, HH KOHHBEIE 
Ha nyTH He nepelimytT. 


Aoteyelth AOporon KpyxXHOIO 
{Jo pogumoro ceaa. 


171 


At the forest brooklet, singing 

On the fringé of war nearby, 

After a good wash and wringing, 

ayorkin s left his trousers hanging 
ith his tunic out to dry. 


Lies he where the sun is hottest, 
Arms extended, palms down-pressed, 


Catching up on all his daydreams 
For a good twelve months at least. 


And the brooklet of spring waters 
Gently shakes the grassy sedge 
At his feet, spread out for comfort 
Close beside the water’s edge; 


And it chirps affectionately, 
Laves the pebbles on its bed, 
And a song, or maybe story, 
Seems to sing in Tyorkin’s head. 


I will wade in your clear waters. 
Brooklet, whither going? 

To my own dear native village 
will you be a-flowing? 


Say, will your meanderings take you 
To my home out yonder? 
Prickly barbed wire shall not stay you 

As you trickle under. 


Through the German trenches shimmering, 
Past the sentry stations, 

In among the trees and bushes, 
Round the gun positions, 


You shall take your old, time-honoured 
Homeward course, as ever. 
Infantry or cavalrymen 
Shall delay you never. 


To my home by ways so devious 
You shall slowly wander. 


172 


Ha MOCTy COAdaTHI C pyKbAMH,— 
Tpit 104 MOCTHKOM Mpomtaa. 


TaM mewaAb CBO BEAHKYN, 
Yro 6e3 Kpas uM KONYA, 


Hag To6ou, Haq peukou, BbITAaKaT, 


Moet, BbIaAeT MaTb Oona. 


Hag To6o0H, Haq MaAoH peykown, 
Hag Bogou, sett NyTb Jarek, 

TlocanrxaTb 6bI XOTb CAOBEYKO eH, 

XOTb OJHO, UTO eA ChIHOK. ; 


IlomopoxeHHBIH, MpOcTyKeHHBIM, 

OrTabixaeT OH, repon, 
Buta, paHeHbIh, KOHTYKCHHBIN, 
Aja 340poBbiii 4 KMBON... 


TepkiH— MHOrO AM ApeMaA OH, 
SeMAIO-MaTb TIpHxKaB K WeKe,— 
CAbILUMT:! 

— Tepkuu, K renepaay 

Ha oqgnont AaBaii Hore. 


Tlocmotpea, NOgHAACA Tepkux, 
Tyt cBA3HOM CTOMT. 

— Hy to x, 

be3 wiTanos, 6e3 ruMHacTepku 
K reHepaay He noi Jeu. 


ToBoput, 4yAuKT, a BCe *e 

Cam, BOAHYAC M Cons, 
Herpocoxinywo o4exy 

CneuiHo NMAANT Ha ceba. 
IIpupocaa k cnuHe— He CTpOHet... 


— Tepkun, Cpoky NAT MMHYT. 
— Huuero. C 3eman ue cronar, 
Ajaapme PpouTa He NOMAT, 


TloqsanpaBMAca Ha CAaBy, 
VW xoTb 3HaeT Haneped, 

Uro copceM He Ha paciipaBy 
Tenepaa ero 30BeT,— 


173 


Should there be a bridge with sentries, 
You'll run softly under. 


And, maybe, the soldier’s mother, 
By your waters standing, 

Has come down to weep her sorrow, 
Grief that has no ending. 


There, by your much-travelled waters 
In the hope of hearing 

Just a word or two of tidings 
How her son is faring. 


After many a chill and fever, 
He’s alright, is Tyorkin; 

And though battered, wounded, shell-shocked, 
He’s alive and kicking. 


Tyorkin, lying there and dreaming 

With his cheek pressed to the ground, 
Hears: “The General wants you, Tyorkin! 
Put your skates on! Quick, get round!” 


Tyorkin turns his head, half-rises, 
Sees an orderly. “Now, son, 

Can't go to the General, can I, 
Till I’ve got my trousers on!” 


Though he jokes and gags about it, 
He’s excited, breathing fast; 

Grabs his damp things from the bushes, 
Tries to drag them on in haste, 

But they cling to him all over.... 


“You've got just five minutes, mate!” 
“Well? You think they’re going to fire me, 
All because I showed up late?’ 


But he makes himself look tidy, 
For he knows it well enough 

That the General hasn’t called him 
Merely for a ticking off. 


174 


Bce * y rAaBHOrO nopora 

B reHepaAbckom 6anHAaKe — 
bara 651 Gor, Tak Tepkuu 6ory 
Tlomoanaca 651 B Ayute. 


Ilyrka Ab, ecAm pa306parTEca: 

K reHepaay BXOAHIUb BApyr,— 
Yenepaa— O4MH Ha ABaglaTh, 
JBaAlljaTb MATb, Aa MO*KET CTaTKCA, 
V1 wa copoxk BepcT BoKpyr. 


Tenepaa cTtouT waa HaMu,— 
Opo6ertb mpu HeM He rpex,— 
OH He TOABKO 4TO 4GMHaMH, 
Boesbimu opdenamu, 

On roaaMu cTapute Bcex. 


Tu, o6.Kernincb Kaliew, Maakaa, 
TH MeuIKOM XOAHA NO CTOA, 
On Torga yX 6brA BOAKON, 

OH XOAMA yxKe B aTaky, 

B3B04, a TO M poTy BeA. 


Vi swa 9sToOH NOAOBHHE — 

Y nepeAHHX HallMx AHHH, 
Ha BpowHe — HE KTO, Kak OH, 
Tso IK u Tao Kaannun. 
Cyqg. Orey. T'aapa. 3axon. 


UYecrbio, Apyr, CiHuTaH HeMaaod, 
3apa6oranHon B Gon, 
YcAbIXaTb OT reHepaaa 
Bapyr paMHAHo CBOW. 


3Ha: 3a ACAO, 3a 3aCAyTy 
dKMeT Te6e OH KpeNKO pyky 
Bboesow cpoek pykoit. 


— Bot, 6pat, 3HaanT, TH KaKoit. 
Boratsipb. Opea. Hy, npocro— 
Bonu! — cxaxerT renepaa. 


175 


But as he draws near the threshold 
Of that holy place down there, 

If there were a God, then Tyorkin 
Would intone a silent prayer. 


It’s no joke, to put it bluntly, 
When the CO calls you round. 
Generals don’t come in plenty; 
He’s the only one for twenty, 
Maybe forty, versts around. 


If you go with trepidation, 

Well, it’s only natural... 

It’s not just his rank and station, 
Or his Army decorations — 

He’s the oldest of us all. 


And, while with a baby spoon 

You were guzzling breakfast porridge, 
He’d been made, for dash and courage, 
Company Commander soon 

After leading a platoon. 


As the front-line soldiers see him, 
He is fraught with special meaning. 
They know well that in this war, 
He’s their CC,* their Kalinin.** 
Father. Judge. Authority. Law. 


Friend, consider it an honour, 
Almost military fame, 

When the General in person 
Calls you by your modest name, 


And, in his appreciation 
Of your gallant contribution, 
Shakes you firmly by the hand. 


“Good for you, lad! That was grand! 
Acted like a proper champion!” 
Warmly says the General. 
* Central Committee of the Communist Party of the 


Soviet Union.— Tr. 
** Mikhail Kalinin (1875-1946) was President of the 
Supreme Soviet of the USSR at the time.— Tr. 


176 


VM nyckai TH Aaxke pOocToM 
Vis maeubMi BCEFO HE B3AA, 

VI ogeT He AAA Mapaga,— 
TyT sow#ua—napag noToM,— 
Topopat: opea, Tak Hajo 

Vi rasdetb x ObITh OpAOM. 


Cro, 6o0e, C AOCTOHMHbIM BHAOM, 
Tlonnman, B Aymle uMen: 
Tenepaa Harpady BblzaA— 

Kak Ob] CHAA C Tpyqu cBoeH — 
Vx 6omWOBCKOH ruMHacTepKe 
I[puxpenua HeMeJAA CaM. 

HW saadouHbw: 

— Bor, 6par Tepxun,— 

Ilo AMXHM M1poBea ycam. 


B cxo6kax Hago6Ho, nomKanyH, 
3AeCb OTMETHTB, 4TO YCHI, 
Ecaw €CTb y reHepaaa, 

To OHM He JAA Kpacsl. 


Ha sowne an, Ha Mapase 
He nyctax, Apy3ba, Korga 
Tenepaa ycbi MorAadHa 

Vi scka3aa xora Ont: 


— fia... 


Ectb npuBaluka Goesaa, 
EcTb MHHYTBI H 4aCBl... 
VU ue 3pa euje Uanaes 
Ypaxkaa CBOM chi. 


Caopom — Aaapine. Tenepaay 
Tloka3aaocb nog KoHeL, 

Uto cpoew warpage Maao 
Tloyemy-To pag 6oey. 


Yro »*, 60eu — ayuia *nBaA, 
Ha Boline BTOpOH yx rod... 
Vi sue Kaan geub cOnBsawt 
V3 BHHTOBKH CaMOAeT. 


177 


And, although you're not broad-shouldered 
And, although you're not so tall, 

And not dressed for the parade-ground 
(Leave that till the fighting’s done), 

If they tell you you’re a champion, 

Better look and be like one. 


Do your best, rise to the occasion, 
And remember well, my son, 
How he handed you the medal 
Just as if it were his own; 
ow he pinned it on your tunic, 
Quickly, but in no way rushed, 
Clapped your shoulder: “Good work, Tyorkin!” 
And gave his moustache a brush. 


Also, parenthetically, 

There’s one comment we should make: 
No, the General’s moustache is 

Not there just for beauty’s sake. 


On parade or at the front-line, 

It’s not purely meaningless 

If he brushes his moustache, though 
He may only say: “Hm, yes....” 


It’s a good old Army custom, 
And, as every soldier knows, 
Not for nothing did Chapayev 
Chertsh his mustachios. 


Still, to go on with our story... 
Soon the General descried 
That, despite his decoration, 
Tyorkin seemed unsatisfied. 


Well, the fellow’s only human, 

He’s been fighting all the way. 

And you don’t shoot down a bomber 
With a rifle every day. 


178 


Moaoglja 4 B CaMOM Aere 
OTAMYMTb pacyeT TIpAMOH. 


— Bor sro, Tepkun, Ha Hezeaw 
Moxemb c opgeHoM— Jomoii... 


TepkuH —NOHAA AH, HE TIOHAA, 
Vab He BepHT TeM CAOBaM? 
TOABKO APOrHyAM AaAOHH 

PykK, NPOTAHYTHIX TIO WIBaM. 


IIpo ce6a s3goxuys ray6oxKo, 
Tepkuu THXO OTBeqAA: 

— Ha negeaw mano cpoxy 
Mue, ToBapum reHepaa... 


TeHepaa CKAOHHACK Crporo: 

— Kak Tak mMaao? Ilouemy? 

— Wloromy—tpyagua gopora 
Hstnge K AOMy MOeMy. 

Alom-To Bpose HeAaae4Ko, 

{lo npamo# — nycTamHE WyTb... 


— Hy auro «x? 

— Ala « He peuxa, 

Yro6 aerko Ty4a WIMBITHYTS. 
Mue No KpaHHOcTH BHaqane 
{lHeM COBaTBCA He C pyKu. 
Mue “atu TyJa HOYaMH, 
Hy, a HOUM KOpOTKH... 


Tenepaa kKMBHYyA: 

— Tlouatuo! 

‘Alero c ornyckom — ta6ax.— 
TlomytHa: 

— A kak o6patHo 

Tat npumea 6n1?.. 

— Touno xX Tak... 


Cropona MOf# AecHaa, 

Kaxk Abi KyCTHK MHE — podHa. 
4 nyTH Takue 3HaI0, 

Uro noaw noma Mena! 


179 


Seeing that the lad deserves it, 
There’s one more thing I can do.... 


“Tyorkin, one week’s leave is granted. 
Take your medal home with you.” 


Can’t the lad believe his ears, then? 
Is he dumbstruck as he seems? 

But his hands are trembling slightly 
Pressed against the trouser seams. 


Tyorkin heaved a sigh, and answered 
In a timid voice and low: ° 
“Comrade General, one week is 
Hardly long enough, you know.” 


Grim, the General leaned torward; . 
“What d’you mean, ‘not long enough’?” 
“It’s no easy road to travel, 

And the going could be tough. 

As the crow flies—nothing to it, 

It’s not all that far to go....” 


“Well, then?” 

“Well, I’m not a brooklet, 

Just to trickle through somehow... 
Getting through the lines in daylight 
Wouldn’t be exactly sport. 

I would have to move in darkness, 
And the nights are pretty short.” 


“Ah!” The General nodded. “Got you! 
Rather dodgy business, eh?” 

Then he ioked: “As for returning, 
D’you suppose you’d find the way?” 


“Tt’s all forest where I come from. 
I know every bush and tree, 
Every track. I could lie low there, 
And you'd look in vain for me. 


180 


Mue TaM Kaxk4anA 3HaKOMa 
Bopo3geuka Nod MexKoi. 

A — cMOAeHCKHH. A Tam Aoma. 
A Tam— cBou, a on— 4yxKOi. 


— Horogu-xa. Tt 6e3 mytox. 
Tut 6H BOT ITO MHE CKa3aa... 


VM kak 6yaro B Ty MHHYyTy 
UTO-TO BCNOMHMA reHepaa. 
Ha 6oftua BaraaHyA AyMeBHei 
Vs cka3aa, mMaruys K CTeHe: 

— Hy-ka, rae TBoa gepesua? 
Tloxaxn No Kapte Mue. 


Tepkni AbImIMT OCTOpOxKHO 

Y HayaabcTBa 3a MAeWOM. 

— MoxHO,— MOABHT,— 9TO MOXKHO. 
Bot on Ajenp, a BoT MOH AOM. 


Teuepaa OTMeTHA TOUKY. 

— Bor aro, Tepxuu, B OAMHOUKy 
He peson Te6e nuarn. 

Ilorepnu yx, aait OTCpou4ky, 

Ham c ToOow Ho nytTh... 


Ornyck TOuHO, akKKypaTHO 
3a To6oH mpoury yyecTs. 


Vs Ooey cka3aa: 

— Tlouatuo.— 

VM eme gobasna: 
— Ectp. 


Bcraa 110 @opme y mopora, 
ITpu3aqyMaacad HEMHOTLO, 
Ha cekyHay Ha O4Hy:.. 


Yenepaa ychi noTporaa 


VW scka3aa, NOAHABIINCS: 
— Hy?.. 


181 


“I know every single furrow, 

Every single boundary line. 

All that country round Smolensk, it’s 
Not their home by nights, it’s mine.” 


vast a moment. That’s important. 
ou could help us out, maybe....” 


And, as if some half-forgotten 
Thought had struck him suddenly, 
With a friendlier glance at Tyorkin, 
He approached the dug-out wall. 
“See this map? Point out your village, 
Can you?” asked the General. 


Tyorkin stepped up close behind him, 
Breathing extra carefully. 

“Yes, I can. That there’s the Dnieper, 
And that there’s my home,” said he. 


Then the CO marked it lightly. 
“Look here, Tyorkin, can’t say rightly 
You'd do well to go alone. 

If you don’t mind waiting slightly, 
We could all head for your home.... 


“Just postpone your leave a little. 
Rest assured, you'll get it all.” 


“Understood,” said Vasya Tyorkin, 
Adding, “Comrade General.” 


As per Army Regulations, 
Tyorkin stiffened to attention, 
Then turned thoughtful for a spell... 


And the General, half-rising, 
Fingered his moustaches: 
“Welle...” 


182 


CkKOAbKHX OH, Ha4 KapTOH CHARA, 
CAOBOM, MOATHMCbIO CBOeH, 
Ilepeg Tem B raaza He BUAA, 
TlocniaaA Ha CMepTb Aw Jer! 


Uto Ke, Bcex MH HE YBHAMIIb, 

C KaxKAbIM K POCCTaHAM HE BBIMAeUIb, 
Ha mpomanbe BceM HeEAb3A 
SaradHYyTb TeMAO B raa3a. 


SarAAHYTb B TAa3a, KaK Apyry, 
Vs noxatTb noKpenye pyxy, 

VM sno uUMeHu Ha3BaTb, 

VM syqaunm moxKeaarth, 

VM, nomegAuBIUH MHHYTKY, 
O604puTb CTapHHHON LIyTKOH: 
Moa, XOTA HW TAKEAO, 

A, Mex AY Npo4MM, HHUETO... 


Hert, na pcex Te6a He xBaTHT, 
XOTb KaKOM Th reHepaa. 


Ho c OAHUM MpocTHTECA KCTaTH 
Tenepaa He 3abpipaa. 


O6HAAMCh OHM, MYKYMHEL, 
Tenepaa-manop c 60%10M,— 
TeHepaa — c ArO6OMMBIM CBIHOM, 
A 60e4—C pogHbIM OTUOM. 


Hi 6otiuy 3a Tem moporoM 
TIpegctoaaa nyTb-4opora 
Ha poguyw cropony, 

IIpamMukom yepe3 Borny. 


183 


Brooding on his maps, how many 
Soldiers, quite impersonally, 

With a word or scribbled order 
Has he sent away to die? 


You can’t walk with every soldier 
To the parting of the ways; 
Look into his eyes directly 

With a warm and friendly gaze; 


Grip him firmly by the hand, 

As 1f he were some dear friend; 
Call him by his name, express 
Hopes for good luck and success; 
And, delaying for a minute, 

Crack some joke with whiskers on it: 
“As the famous poet said, 

‘Cheer up, son, you'll soon be dead.” 


No, there isn’t a commander 
Who could say good-bye to all. 


But one man was not forgotten 
This time by the General. 


Major-General and soldier, 

They embraced as man with man: 
Common private and his father, 
General and his favourite son. 


And, beyond the threshold lay 
Vasya Tyorkin’s homeward way 
Over country scarred and torn 
To the place where he was born. 


184 


O CEBE 


A MOKMHYA AOM KOrAa-TO, 
Tlospaaa Aopora BaaAb. 
He maaa 6n1Aa yTparta, 
Ho cpBetTaa OnlAa TEWAAb. 


VW rogamy c rpycrbio HeKHOK — 
Mex MHBIx AIOOEIX Tpesor — 
YIrOA OTYUHH, MMp MOM IIpexHH 
AB Aywe Moek Geper. 


Za uw He 6bIAO TOMexH 
B3aTb W BCIOMHHTE Hayrag 
Craps aec, Ky4a B opexu 
Al XOAMA C TOATION pebar. 


Aec—HM TyAei, HH OCKOAKOM 
He nopaHeHHblit HH4yTb, 

He nopy6aenuniit 63 ToAKy, 
bes nopaaky Kak-HHby Ap; 

He KopuenaHuniit yracom, 

He noBaAeHHbIi OrHem, 

XA@MOM I'MAB3, 2KECTAHOK, KaCOK 
He 3aBaAeHHBIM KpyroM; 


.* . - ™ . 
ls Sal 7 a ~ ~ AEE ey 
° e 2 - 


~ 
an Se = 


ABOUT MYSELF 


Years ago, the wide world calling 
Took me from my home away. 
Though my loss was not a small one, 
Gentle was my grief that day. 


Through the years with tender sadness, 
Day-to-day concerns apart, 

Memories of home I cherished 

Deep within my yearning heart. 


At my fancy, I could always 

Call to mind those early joys: 
How I roamed the ancient forest, 
Nutting with a gang of boys. 


Woods not torn and gashed by shrapnel, 
Nor by flying bullets grazed; 

Woods no fury of destruction 

Had condemned to senseless waste; 
Woods not seared by high-explosives, 
Burnt down to the very ground, 

Woods not strewn with cartridge cases, 
Cans and helmets all around; 


186 


Bavu4axkaMu HE H3pbITHIn, 
He o6kypeHuplii 34M0i, 
Hu cBoumMu He OOKHTHIE, 
Hu 4yxXMMH 1104 3eMAeH. 


MMAbIn Aec, rae A MAaAbYOHKON 
Tlaea 43 BeTOK WaAalun, 

Tae ogHaxk dbl A TeAeHKa, 
C6uBmHcb C HOF, HCKaA B FAyIM... 


Tloageub paHuero HIOHA 

bplA B AECY, MH KaKABIM AMCT, 
TIoAHbi, pagOcTHBI M IOHBIM, 
Bata TOpAY, HO CBE%K M 4HCT. 


AWCT K AMCTY, AMCTOM IIPHKpBITHIH, 
B cOope AMCTBeHHOM TyCTOM 
TlepecunTaHHbiii, MpOMBITBIi 
Ilepppm 3a AeTO AO%K Jem. 


VB IAyIM pogHou, BerBUCTOH, 
VM Bb TuWM AHeEBHOH, AeCHOH 
Moaogon, rycrou, CMOAMCTBIN, 
SOAOTOH JepxKaaca 3HOH. 


V1 8 cnoxovHonw wane xBOMHOn 
Y 3e€MAM MellIaACH OH 

C MypaBbHHBIM AYXOM BHHHBIM 
Vs mbAHHA, CKAOHASA B COH. 


VB MCTOME OTHE CMOAKAN... 
CBeTAoH Kallaelo CMOAa 

Ilo Kope HarpeTou eAKH, 

Kak CAe3a BO CHE, TeKAa... 


MaTb-3eMAA MOA podHaa, 
CropoHa MOA AecHaaA, 

Kpavi HedaBHHX AeTCKHX AeT, 
OrTunit Kpaii, Thl ECTb HAb HET? 


AletcTBa Aenb, 40 rpo6a MMAbIi, 
AleTcTBa cou, uTO cepally CBAT, 


187 


Woods not criss-crossed with entrenchments, 
Woods not charred by winter fires, 

Woods not occupied and lived in 

By whole armies— ours or theirs. 


Dear, dear forest, where I wove me 
Twigs and branches for a tent; 
Where I sought an erring calf, and 
Ran till I was nearly spent.... 


Once in early June, at midday, 
Every leaf that I saw there 
Joyous, full and juvenescent, 
Glowed as with the purest fire. 


Leaf to leaf, by leaf part covered, 
In a dense and leafy pile, 
Counted over, washed by summer’s 
First fresh shower of rain the while. 


Deep within my native backwoods 
All those silent summer days, 
Thick and fragrant with sweet resin 
Hung the shimmering golden haze, 


Mingling in the tranquil fir-grove 
With the winey redolence 
Of the ants— intoxicating 
And inducing somnolence. 


Drowsy are the birds and silent... 

See the bead of resin cree 

Down the fir-tree’s warm bark, shining 
Like a teardrop shed in sleep... 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 

Land of woods and dreaming forest, 
Where I roamed not long ago— 
Are you there still, yes or no? 


Childhood days the memory clings to, 
Distant dream the heart holds dear — 


188 


Kak Aerko BCe 9TO OBIAO 
B3ATb MH BCNOMHHTb Lod Ha3aJ. 


BcnoMHHTb pa30M 4TO IpHAeTcA— 
Conubiit MOAAeHb Had BOAOH, 
ZiBopHK, crexKy AO KOAOAA, 

Tae mecoqek 30A0TOH; 

KHUTy, WATaHHyWO B M0Ae, 

KuyT, CBHCalouJHH C mAe4a, 

Aeg Ha peqke, raobyc B mIKOAe 

Y WUsana Mapuya... 


fla u He 6bIAO 3amperta, 
IIpoesqnHo Kynus 6uaer, 
Bapyr TyA4a pHexatTb AeTom, 
Tae Tal He OIA ACCATB ACT... 


YroOnt c AacKOH, XOTb HE JeTCKOH, 
Buosb OOHATE CTapyxXy MaTb, 

He M04 MpoBoAoKOH HeMeL|KOH 
HyxHo 651A0 MponoasatTh. 


Yr06 co B3pocaon rpycTbw cAagkoi 
IIpa3squuk BcTpeun NepexuTb— 
He yKpagkonw, He C OrAAAKOH 

Ilo pogHBIM Ae€CaM KpyKHTB. 


Yro6 cepAerwHHIM pa3sroBOpoM 

C 3eMAAKaMM BCTPeTHTb ACHb— 
He nya 6ntAa, Kak BOpy, 

Ilog creHolo TipsTaTb TeHb... 


MatTb-3eMAA MOM pogHan, 
Cropona MOA Ae€CHaA, 

Kpai, cTpagaioujuit B maeny! 
A NpHdAy —AMWb AHA HE 3Hal0, 
Ho npugy, Te6a Bepny. 


He 3BepHHBIM poOKHM CACAOM 
A npudy, TBOK KpOBHHIH CbIH,— 
Bmecte c Hamew nobeszon 

Al uy, a He OfuH. 


189 


All so easy to remember 
Till that dark and fateful year. 


Memories of the water shining 

In the drowsy noonday heat; 

Courtyard, footpath to the well-head, 
Golden sand there at your feet; 

Books, the shepherd’s knout that dangled 
From your shoulder as a rule; 

River ice, the globe at lessons 

With Ivan Ilyich in school.... 


No one ever said you couldn’t 
Buy a ticket for the train 

After ten long years of absence 
Just to see your folks again. 


No need to go crawling under 

Barbed wire and across the line 
To embrace your ageing mother 
With a love undimmed by time. 


No need for that furtive skulking 
Through the forest on your way 

To the secret, grown-up sadness 

Of that sweet reunion day. 


No need to slink round the corner 
Wary as a thief, or worse, 
Scared of your own shadow, just to 
Meet your fellow villagers. 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 

Land of woods and dreaming forest 
Suffering in captivity! 

When, | cannot rightly say, 

But I shall return one day. 


Not like some wild, cowering creature 
Shall your son at last come home, 
But in victory’s hour triumphant 

I'll return, and not alone! 


190 


OTOT yac He 3a TOpON, 
JJAad MeHA M AAS TeOA... 


A 4uTaTeAb TOH MOpow 
CxaxerT: 

— Tye xe mpo repos? 
Sto 6oapuie mpo ceba. 


Tipo ce6a? Yupex yMecTHuIi, 
MoxeT 6sITb, MeHA TIpecek. 


Ho AgapahtTe CKaxKeM 4eCcTHO: 
UTO *%, a H HE GEAOBEK? 


Cnoputb 34ecb HyKAbI HE BUY, 
Co3HaBalica B 4eM B Apyrom. 

A orpa6aeu u yHuxKeH, 

Kak H TBI, OJHMM BparoM. 


A Apowy oT 60An OcTpoH, 
3ac6bl TOPbKOH HM CBATOH. 
Mat, oTelj, poaHbie CecTphl 

Y MeHA 3a TOH YepToON. 

Al cTOHAaTb OT 60AM BiIpaBe 

VM kKpuuatb C TOCKH KAATOH. 

To, 4TO | BCeM CepAlleM CAaBHA 
VM aw6ua— 3a TOW yepToH. 


Zipyr MOH, Tak Ke HE A€rKO MHe, 
Kak Te6e c rayxon 6egon. 

To, aro A XpaHHA WH NOMHMA, 
Uem A KMA— 3a TOM, 3a TOH— 
3a HeNMcaHOn rpannye, 
Tlonepek crpannl camon, 

Uro roput, ropuT B 3apHuyax 
BcnbitiekK — A€TOM HM 3HMOiN... 


Vi ckamy Te6be, He cKpow,— 
B sTow KHUIe, TaM AN, CAM, 
To, 4TO MOABUTh Obl repow, 
Yopopt A AMYHO CaM. 

A 3a BCe KpyroM B OTBETE, 


191 


Yes, that hour is drawing nearer 
Slowly, both for you and me.... 


Then the reader: 

“And our hero— 

Have you left him on the shelf? 
All you talk of is yourself!” 


Why, you almost beat me to it. 
That was rightly said by you. 


But we might as well be honest: 
Me, am I not human too? 


There’s no call for us to quarrel 
Over things like that. You see, 
I’ve been robbed, humiliated 

By that selfsame enemy. 


With the keenest pain I tremble, 
Holy, bitter rage is mine. 

Mother, father, sisters —all are 
On the wrong side of that line. 

I could rightly groan with anguish, 
Cry out at the cruel affront. 

All I love and hold most sacred 
Lies beyond that battle-front. 


Yes, calamity has hit me 

ust as hard as you, my friend; 

All I cherish and remember, 

All I’ve lived for, lies beyond 

That uncharted frontier slanting 
Down across the land entire, 
Burning, burning, summer, winter, 
In a holocaust oF fire. 


In this book occasionally — 

And I’m being frank with you — 
What my hero should be saying 

Comes from me direct, it’s true. 

I am part of all that’s round me, 


192 


Ls 3aMeTb, KOAb HE 3€METHA, 
Uro u Tepkuu, Mou repo, 

3a M€HA TAacHT NOpoH. 

Ou 3€MAAK MOM H, ObITh MOET, 
XOTb HHM@AO HE IIOST, 

Bce »e Kak-HH6yAb MoxoxKe 
Pa3mMpimianaA. A HeT, Hy — HET. 


Tepkuy — Aaabme. ABTop — Bcaed. 


193 


And, no doubt, you will have found me 
Giving Tyorkin many a time 

Thoughts and feelings that are mine. 
He’s my countryman, and maybe, 
Though he’s not the poet kind, 

Still, in all his thoughts and feelings, 
He’s somehow that way inclined. 


Let him lead. I'll come behind. 


1g) 


. 
se 


194 


BOH B BOAOTE 


boii 6e3nectuniit, 0 KOTOpOM 
Peab cerogHA noBejeM, 

bata, mpomea, 3a6bIACA CKOpo... 
Aja MW BCINOMHAT AM O HEM? 


boii B Aecy, B KycTax, B 6oaoTe, 
Tae potua cTreawaAa Nyt, 

Tae Bpoga Opraa mexore 

Ilo KOAeHO, rpa3b— NO rpy ab; 


Tae Opean 6otup moxypo, 

V, ckoAb3uys c 6pesHa B HOUH, 
ApTHAAepnal TOHYAa, 

YBA3aAM TATaqH. 


OSToT 60% B 6oAoTe AMKOM 
Ha BTopoM 1o04y BoHHEL 
He 3a ropog mea Beankui, 
UTo OAH y BCeH CTpaHHl; 


He 3a ropaylo TBepabIHD, 
Uro y MaTyuIKH-pexkn, 


THE BATTLE OF THE MARSHES 


Now, the battle of the marshes 

That’s our subject for today, 

Came and went, was soon torgotten — 
Who’d remember anyway? 


It took place in swampy forest 

Where the tide of war nad spread, 
Where they fought knee-deep in water, 
And breast-high in oozing mud; 


Where they straggled, glum and wretched, 
And the field guns in the night 

Slipped their beams, subsided slowly, 
While the tractors bogged down tight. 


And the battle of the marshes, 

As war’s second year came round, 
Wasn’t fought for some great city 
Of illustrious renown; 


Wasn't fought for that proud fortress 
By the Volga flowing free, 


196 


A 3a HeKHH, CKaxKeM HbIHe, 
HaceaeHHBIM NyHKT bopxu. 


Ou crosxa 3a TeM 60A0TOM 

Y KOHIa A€CHOM TponE, 

B HeM OCTaAOCb POBHBIM C4€TOM 
O6ropeanix Tpx Tpy6s1. 


Tam C OTKPbITHIX H 3aKpBITHIX 
OrHeBbIxX — komy 3a6niTp! — 
Batao 6uTo, OuTo, 6uTO, 

Hi, Ka3aaocb, 4TO Tam 6uTB? 


Tam B uyje6eHKy KaxK AbIM KaMeHb, 
B wenku Kaxjoe Opesno. 
Ha3pipaaoch Tam bopkaMu 
MecrTo yepHoe O4HO. 


A B OKpyxky — MOx, 60A0TO, 
Kpali OT Mupa B CTOopoHe. 

IOAYMaTb BApy!, 4TO KTO-TO 
SAech POAWACK, KHA, paboTaa, 
Kro cerogHaA Ha BOHHE. 


Tae TH,’ rae Th, MaABbYHK Boch, 
AlepepeHckui nacTywoK, 

UrTo 10 STHM AbIMHBIM pocaM, 
Utro 10 STHM KOUKaM Wea? 


BuACH Ab TH B ropax KaBxa3a, 
Man naa 3a CraanHrpaa.. 

Mow 3eMAKK, posecunk, 6par, 
Bepuurit AOAry WH WpuKa3y 
PyccKHHi Tpy*Ke€HHK-COAAaT. 


Mau, MoxeT, B STHX JhIMaX, 
UTo ye HeAarekH, 

Bu dvb HBIHYe CBOH pOAMMbIi 
Yroa AegoscKnHH, bopxu? 


VU y Tok aeptnt HeqaabHyon, 
Y 3EMAH MHOFOcTpadaAbHoH, 


197 


But, we might as well admit it, 
For a hamlet named Borki. 


There it lay, back of the marshes, 
Reached by one small forest track; 

Not a single house left standing, 

Just three chimneys, scorched and black. 


From concealed and open fire-points, 

As all there remember well, 

It was hammered, hammered, hammered; 
There seemed nothing left to shell. 


Every brick was smashed to rubble, 
Every beam to matchwood turned, 
Till Borki was just a name for 
Something flat, and black, and burnt, 


Ringed around by moss and marshes, 
Back of nowhere, far away... 

And to think that in this hamlet 

One was born, and lived, and laboured, 
Who is at the front today. 


Little barefoot shepherd laddie, 

Tell me, where, O where are you, 

That once roamed these mounds and tussocks 
In the misty morning dew? 


Did you fight down in the Caucasus 
Did you fall at Stalingrad, 
Fellow-countryman and comrade, 
True to orders and to duty, 
Russian peasant soldier-lad> 


Or, perhaps, in yonder smoke haze, 
Not so far off now, you see 

All that’s left of what was once your 
Native hamlet of Borki? 


Near the outskirts of the village 
Now so near and yet. so far, . 


198 


Uro 6praa k Te6e AoOpa, 
BAMACA FOAOC TBOM B MedaAbHbIN 
VW snporaxHbii CToH: «Ypa-a...» 


Kak B 6010 y4a4uw MaAo 
VM geaa Hexopoun, 
Buyosartoro, 6n1Baao, 
Tam nonpooyi nonun. 


APpTHAA€pHA TOAKOBO 
Tosoput— ona pasa: 

— Bca 6eaa, 4TO TaHKH CHOBAa 
B aec CBepHyAM MO Aposa. 


A ele CAOKHEE CUETHI, 
UyTb TaHKMCTa MOBCTpeyaa: 
— JTlogpeaa onatTb nexota. 
Saaeraa. [Ipomaa 3ganaa. 


A mlexoTa He XBaCTAMBO, 

Be3 oTpbipa OT 3eMAH 

AMUb M@XHeT pyKOH ACHHBO: 
— Touno. TaHKu nogBean. 


Tak wer OHO N10 Kpyry, 

VW pyrawt sce Apyr Apyra, 
Alb B COrAacbe BCe NOApAg 
ABwallHio OpaHart. 


Bce xopoune pe6ata, 

Kak MOCMOTpHIlIb— kpacoTa. 
UW nuuyTb He BUHOBATH, 

VW aepesuya He B3aTa. 


UW nupoTussnk no 6oaoTy, 

Ilo Tpanureikam TOppAHBIM 
CaauT BHOBb 43 MHHOMeTOB — 
UtTo Thi xouewlb AeAaH C HUM. 


Aapeca pa3Bed4aa TOUHO, 
I[aeT MOcBIAKM CneuINOK NOUYTOH, 
Vs aexuub Th, agpecar, 


199 


On the land where you were nurtured, 
Did you lift your voice up, maybe, 
In a long and sad “Hurra-ah!”? 


When things go awry in action, 
When you think you've lost the game, 
That’s the time when everybody 
Looks for someone else to blame. 


Say the gunners, reasonably, 

“We delivered all the goods. 

It’s the tanks—they turned and left us, 
Went for logs into the woods.” 


But it isn’t all that simple. 

Meet a tankman: he makes out 
That the infantry stayed put and 
Sent the whole show up the spout. 


And the infantry dismiss it 
Without even looking round, 
Saying with a weary gesture, 

“Yes, the tanks—they let us down.” 
So they chew the whole thing over, 
Each lot swearing at the other; 

But, as with a single voice, 

They all curse the Air Force boys. 


Still, they’re all grand fellows really, 
As I’m sure you will agree, 

And you cannot really blame them 
If they've failed to take Borki. 


Meanwhile, Jerry rakes the marshes 
And the trenches in the peat 

With: a battery of mortars, 

And our boys are in a sweat. 


Yes, he’s found the right addresses, 
And each package he expresses, 
While they just lie waiting there, 


200 


M3HbIBan, *KACWIb 32 KOUKON, 
Ckopo Ab MHHa BACIIMT B 3a/. 


Ilepemoxuiaa mexota 

B noanpit CMak KAAHeT 6o0a0TA, 
He meutaeT 0 4pyromM— 

XoOTb Obl CMepTh, Aa Ha CyXOM. 


KrTo-HnbyJpb, euje paccKaxeT, 
Kak A@KaAM TaM B TOCKe. 
Tpetbu cyTKM KyKHII KakeT 
B *%MBOTe KHIIKa KHIIKe, 


TlocbinaeT AO*K AUK pegKui, 
KameAb 3A0H Tep3aeT rpy Ab. 
Hu KAouKa pOdHOH ra3zeTKH — 
Ko3bi0 HOKKY 3aBEPHYTb; 


Vi wm cimuex, HH MaxOpKH— 
Bce pacKHCAO OT BOJBI. 

— Coraacucs, Bacuanit Tepxuu, 
XyoxKe HeT ye Gegn? 


TOT A@KUT y KpaA Ayxu, 
YCMeXHYACH: 

— Her, Apy3pa, 

Bo cro pa3 OpipaeT xyxe, 
OTO TOUHO 3Halo A, 


— ge yx xyxe... 

— A ne cnoprte, 

KTO He XO¥ET, TOT He Bepb, 
Al cxa3aa Obi: Ha KypopTe 
Mbl HaxOAUMCs Tenepb. 


VW ras guT WyTHHK BeAHKHH 

Ha awe co CTOpoHEi. 

[y6s1— To au oT ¥YepHUKH, 
O Ab OT XOAOJa YepHEl. 


Tosoput: 
— B cspoem 6oaoTte 
Tht HaxXOAHUIbCA ceHuac. 


201 


Stretched out flat among the grasses, 
For a bombshell up the rear. 


And the soaked and sodden soldiers 
Lie and wait and swear blue murder, 
Not at all afraid to die, 

All they want is to be dry. 


Someone else will tell the story, 

How they lay there, as if trapped, 
Three whole days and nights, so hungry 
That their empty bellies flapped. 


Drizzle falling, fast and fine, 
Sounds of coughing all the time, 
And no paper or gazette 

For a hand-rolled cigarette. 


Neither matches nor makhorka: 
Everything is sopping wet. 
“Might as well admit it, Tyorkin, 
This is quite the worst do yet.” 


Lying almost in a puddle, 

e just turns his head and grins. 
“Call this bad? There’s nothing to it, 
That’s the honest truth, my friends.” 


“Where's it worse?” 

“Though you don’t have to 

Credit everything I say, 

This, as far as I’m concerned, mates, 
Is a seaside holiday.” 


And our wag regards his comrades 
Sideways, seeming much amused. 
And his lips are blue with cold, or 
Maybe whortleberry juice. 


He continues: ‘Now, these marshes 
That you’re in, belong to you. 


202 


Tu B yenu. Bo s3Bo0/e. B pote. 
Thi HMeCeLlIb CBA3b HM WacTb. 


lame C€TOBaTb HEAOBKO 
IIpu taxol, uyaax, cyaboe. 
Y te6a B pyKaxX BHHTOBKA, 
/\pe rpanaTHi pu Te6e. 


Y re6A—B THIAY Ab, Ha PAAHTe,— 
Cam He 3Haelllb, KaK CHACH,— 
Bpone6oitkn, NyliKH, TaHKH. 

bl, OpaT,—9TO OaTaabon. 
Tloak. Jusu3na. A xovenlb— 
@pont. Poccua! Hakonen, 
A cxaxy TeGe Kopoye 
VM snowatuen: TH — 6oery. 


TI B CTpOW, Mpoly yCcBOuTE, 
A 6nITb MOXKET, rod Ha3zad 
Tu 6b 34e€Cb H3BEAaA, BOHH, 
To, 4TO Hall H3Be4ar Spar. 


Horn 6 c ropa He Hocnan! 
Tae cBou, rage abu Kpasn? 

[ae Tor pout u rae Poccus? 
. Ilo kaxouw py6ex cBon? 


VM oguHaxK dbl HOUbIO 1034HO, 
Or jepeBHu B CTOpoHe 
YKpHBaAca 6 TH B KOAXO3HOH, 
Hanpumep, CeHHOH KONHE... 


Tyt, o3H06 BayBaA B AYN, 
Zjoarow BHITHYBLIMCh Ayron, 
CmepTHbIi CBHCT CKaTHACA B yUIH, 
Bawxe, HwKe,. cyule, rayure — 
V1 pasppis! 

3a HMM Apyroi... 


— Hy, naxppra. He gact gocaymaTb 
YWeaoseka. 
— QOH Taxol... 


203 


You’re in line. Part of a unit, 
With communications, too. 


“Everybody might well wonder 

What the hell you’re whining for, 
When you've got a rifle on you, 

And two hand-grenades, what’s more. 


“What with flanks, and rear, and so forth, 
You’re much stronger than you’d guess: 
Anti-tank guns, tanks, artillery — 

A Battalion, nothing less! 

Regiment. Division. Then the 

Front. All of our Russian land. 

In a word, you are a soldier, 

That’s what you should understand. 


‘“‘Now you're in the battle line, chum, 

But a year ago, maybe, 

You'd have surely been through something 
Like what happened once to me. 


“You'd have nearly died of anguish. 
Where are all the lads you knew? 

Where’s the Front? Where are you, Russia? 
How much is there left of you? 


“Late at night, one summer evening 
You'd be hiding, I dare say, 
Somewhere well clear of the village 
In a handy heap of hay....” 


Here a whine, weird and soul-chilling, 
Stabbed the ear-drums like a pain, 
In a long, low arc a-sailing, 
Keener, Gower, nearer wailing, 
Then a crash — 
And then again.... 


“Ranging in—no doubt about it!” 
“Doesn't like your voice, that’s plain!” 


204 


Vs 3a Ka AbIM TEM pa3pbIBOM 
Ha TIpHMOAKHyBUIMx peOAT 
PBaHbI AMCT, KpyKaCb ACHHBO, 
Betxu cOuTbIe ACTAT. 


TsaHeT Bcex, 30BeT KyJa-TO, 
Yxoau, 6e4a BOT-BOT... 
ToapKxo Tepxuu: 

— Bpocs, pe6ata, 
Tospopio — He nonazert. 


Cam cuguT Kak 6yaTo B Kpecae, 
Bcex cTpaxyeT OT OrHa. 

— Hy, a ecan?.. 

— A yx ecan... 

Iloayan Torga C MeHA. 


Cayura ayume. A cepbe3Ho 
PaccyxAalo 0 BOHHe. 


BoT A@KMUb THI B TOH 6ecxo3HOH, 
B noae 6pomeHnHor KomHe. 


Hemey rage? Jlo 6amxKHEeH xaTbI 
Tloapepcrbl— HU AaTb HY B3ATB, 
VW mpuxogat apa coagata 

B moae ceHa HaBA3aTb. 


V3 KOMHYIKM BAXKYT CeHO, 
Tou, rae Tbl HallieA MIpuHior, 
YMUHAaIOT 0A KOACHO 

VM nowt. MW aro x nowt! 


XAOMIbI, BEpbT€ MHE, HE BepbTe, 
TOAbKO BpaTb He CTaA 6b A, 

A mlowrT xyabie 4epTH, 

Cam cAbIxXaA: «MOCKBa MOA». 


Tyt coctpoua Tepkun poxy 
MpHBCTaA, Aepxacb 3a MeHb, 

Vi 3amea BeCcbMa NOxoxe, 

Kak 6bI HeMel{ MOF 3arleTb. 


205 


With each violent explosion 

As they lie there, silent all, 

Broken twigs come down and leaves that 
Circle idly as they fall. 


Now the men are getting restless: 
“If we don’t get of it....” 

Tyorkin stops them: 

“That'll do, lads. 

He won’t score a direct hit.” 


Sitting pretty, he. insures them 

From such shell-bursts as may come. 
“But supposing?....” 

“Well, supposing... 

I'll pay yp your premium. 


“Now, about this war, there’s something 
Serious I’ve got to say. 


“There you are, out in the meadow, 


Hiding in a heap of hay. 


“It’s a half verst to the nearest 
Cottage, you. can’t nip away, 

Though you hear two German soldiers 
Coming up to bind some hay. 


“Now they’re binding from the hay-pile 
Where you're lying motionless. 

As they work, the two are singing 
Something — well, you'll never guess! 


“Call me liar if you want to, 

But I wouldn't shoot a line. 

With my own two ears I heard those 
Devils singing ‘Moscow Mine’!” 


Tyorkin grimaced, put his hand down 
On a tree-stump, rose. gave out 

‘With a line or two of music, 

Singing just like any Kraut. 


206 


Alo Toro TAHYA OH KpHBO, 

VU cmoTpea TIpH STOM OH 

Tak 4BaHAMBO, TaK TOCKAHBO, 
Tak 4y4HO,— NeqeHKH BOH! 


— Bort u cmex Te6e. Ognako 
Ycanixar 6bI TH TOrda 

OTy mecHiO,— TH 6 3amaakaa 
OT meyaan 4H CTBIAAa. 


Vs scMeelibca TH CerogHa, 
Iloromy uTo, 3Hali, Goer: 
Orow mecHH NpomaorosHeit 
HpiHye Hemel, HE neBeL. 


— He neseu-To— 9To BepHo, 
STO ACHO, 4aC He TOT... 
— A JepesHw-To, npuMepHo, 
Bor 6epeM—ne oraaer. 


Vc Trockow 6beckoueyunon, 
Uro, 6bitb MoxeT, rog Geper, 
KTO-TO Tak duCcTOCepseuHO, 
Tay6oxo, kak Mex Ky3HeaHBI, 
Bapyr B3AOXHYA: 

— Oro, cnrHOK! 


Togusuaca Tepxun B3fOXy, 
Ilocmor pea, — Hy, Hy! — cka3aa,— 
UW traxow pe6saunit xoxor 

Bcex onatb B paOotTy Baan. 


— Ax Th, Tepxun. Hy 4 maaniit. 
VB KOrO Tal y4aaca, 

TOAbKO MaTB, HaBEPHO, 3HaAa... 
— A oT TeTKH pogHaca. 


— TepkuH —TeTKuH, eAKH-naAkH, 
Cnilb elje Ha3A0 Bpary. 


— He mory. TaaaHta »*xaaxo. 
Ajo Gombexxku Gepery. 


207 


And he dragged it out so direly, 
With such sentiment, such side, 
And so weirdly, that his comrades 
Laughed until they nearly cried. 


“Think that’s funny? Let me tell you, 
If you’d heard that song the same 

As I heard it in the meadow, __.. 
You’d have wept for grief and shame. 


“Yes, today it seems amusing, 

And this is the reason, mate: 

ferry sang that song last summer; 
ow, for him, it’s out of date!” 


“Yes, he’s changed his tune already, 
Not the time for it, that’s flat...” 
“But the village that we’re after, 
He’s sure hanging on to that!” 


Then, as if he had been saving 

Up his sorrows for a year, 

Suddenly one of the fellows, 
Wheezing like a smithy bellows, 
Breathed a heartfelt sigh: “Oh dear!” 


Tyorkin stared at him, quite startled. 
“Pere, come off it, you!” said he. 
And a peal of boyish laughter 

Once more shook the company. 


“Tyorkin, Tyorkin, you’re a right one. 
Where on earth d’you get it from? 

No one but your Ma could tell: us—” 
“It’s my Aunt as bore me, chum.” 


“Auntie’s Tyorkin! What a talker! 
Give us more dirt on the Hun.” 


“Can't. I've got to save my talent 
Till the Jerry bombers come. 


208 


Tloayaaii Torga Ha BHIOop, 
Yro ume mpo sanac. 


— VK 3a To Te6e cnacn6o. 
— Ha 3goposee. B 4goOpnii aac. 


3aKAIOUNTh TeMepb HEAB3A AM, 
Uro, MOA, rope He 6e,a, 
Uro pe6aTa BcTaan, BAM 


Alepesyuixy 6e3 Tpysa? 


Uto c yqaieH NOCTOAHHOR 
TepkHH NOgBHr COBeplInA: 
PyccKoH AO*KKOH AepeBAHHOK 
Bocemb @puyes yaouna! 


Het, TOBapHu, CKaxKeM TIPAMO: 
BIA OH AOAOr AO TOCKH, 
AeTHuit 60% 3a 9TOT CaM 
HaceaeHHnii nyHxT bopxu. 


Muoro AHeH MpourAoO CypoBEIX, 
ToppKnx, CIMCaHHBIX B pacxod. 


— Ho no3BoabTe,— ckaxyT CHOBa,— 
Tak 0 ¥eM TyT pe4db HAT: 


Peyb HAzeT O Tom HoaoTe, 

Tae nowna CTreAMAa IlyTb, 

Tae soaa 6ntaa nmexoTe 

Ilo KoAeHo, rpa3b— 110 TpyAb; 


Tae B TpACHHe, B pxkaBOl Kale, 
be30TBeTHO—B C¥YeT, HE B C¥eT— 
IaAv, MOAZAH, A@KAAH HAH 
AjueM HM HOUbW HalIpoaert; 


Tae nogapkom 3 NOAapKos, 
Kak TpyAbl HH BeAHKH, 

He Pocros uM 6n1A, He XapbkKos, 
Haceaenubiit nyHKT Bopxu. 


UW 8b rayun, B 6o10 G6esBecTHOM, 
B cocnake, B KyCTaX ChIpbIx 


209 


You can have the first refusals 
On what I've got left to spare.” 


“Well, for that much, thank you, comrade.” 
“Pleasure! Any time you care!” 


Can we now say in conclusion 

That the siege came off all right? 

That they charged and took the hamlet, 
Jerry showing hittle fight? 


That, unbeatable as always, 
ayorkin, in a mighty feat, 

ith a Russian wooden soup-spoon 
Knocked eight Jerries off their feet? 


No, we'll tell you frankly, comrade — 
One long drawn-out agony 

Was the battle fought that summer 
For the hamlet of Borki. 


Many days of desperate struggle 
Written off as spent in vain.... 


“Now just what’s all this in aid of?” 
Comes the objection once again. 


It’s about those swamps and marshes 
Where the tide of war had spread; 
Where men fought knee-deep in water, 
And breast-high in oozing mud. 


Where through mud as thick as porridge 
Doggedly they fought their way, 
Walking, crawling, taking cover, 
Without respite, night and day. 


Where the prize for all their labours, 
Truly great though they might be, 
Wasn't proud Rostov or Kharkov, 
But the hamlet of Borki. 


In the battle of the pinewoods 
Where the scrub lay wet beneath, 


210 


CmepTbl0 npaBeAHOH HM 4eCTHOK 
Ilaau MHorue W3 HMX. 


Ilyctb tot 60% He ynoMAHyT 

B cnvcke CAaBhI 30A0TOH, 
Zlenb puget — ese NOBCTaHyT 
Alou B TlaMATH *KMBON. 


VB oanoi GeccmepTHoH KHUTe 
byayT Bce HaBek paBHE — 

Kro 3a ropog Maa BeEAHKHH, 
Uro o4HH y BCeH CrpaHnl; 


KTo 3a ropayl0 TBEpABIHD, 
Uto y Boaru y pexkn, 

Kro 3a TOT, 3a6nITHIM HBIHE, 
HaceaeHHbii nyHKT bopku. 


HM Poccus — math poguan — 
TlowecTb BCceM OTAaCT CMOAHA. 
bow HHOH, nopa uaa, 
JKM3Hb OAHa H CMEPTb O4Ha. 


211 


Many of them died a noble 
And an honourable death. 


Though they may not grace the golden 
List of fame for all to see, 

Those who fell shall rise up one day 
In the living memory. 


And in one immortal volume 
They stand equal for all time: 
Those who died for a great city 
Of unique, illustrious name; 


Those who fell for that proud fortress 
By the Volga flowing free; 

And the heroes of that long- 
Forgotten hamlet of Borki. 


Russia shall pay homage to them, 
Each and every mother’s son. 

Times and battlegrounds may differ, 
Life is one and death is one. 


212 


O AIOBBU 


Bcex, Koro B3aAa BOiHa, 

Kax AOro COAgatTa 

IIpopoauaa xoTs o4Ha 
€HIMHa KOrga-TO... 


He nogapor, tak 6eabe 
Co6paaa, 6nITb Moxer, 
UY aro zoapuie 6€3 Hee, 
To ona 4Jopome. 


U Aopoxe stor ac, 
TlamMatuniit, oco6bniii, 

Bsraaq mocaeqHHit sTMX Laa3, 
Uro 3sa6yqb nonpobyii. 


O6oHaucb B nyTH 6oAbmIOM, 

Taynon caaBpl paan, 

Be3 ato6Bu, 4TO BHAA B HeM, 
B TOM MpowaaAbHOM B3ranae. 

OH y Kaxkgoro M3 Hac 

Campi COKpOBeHHBIM 


ON LOVE 


Of all those that war has taken 
Far from home, there’s no man 
Who has not been waved farewell 
By at least one woman.... 


Linen’s all that she may give him 
As he stops to kiss her, 

But, as time goes passing by, 

He begins to miss her. 


And he can’t forget the look 

In her fond eyes, ever, 

During those oe precious moments 
That they were together. 


Never mind the quest for glory; 
Nothing’s worth the starting 
Without all the love that shone there 
At the hour of parting. 


For each one of us, that look 
Is imperishable; 


214 


VW 6GecueHHuit Hall 3amac, 
Hel pukocHoBeHHblit. 


OH IIpoO BCAKHH 4aC, Apy3ba, 
BepexHO xpaHMTca. 

VM c Topapuujem HeAb3A 

STUM MOAeCANTBCA, 
Tloromy — 0H MOH, OH BeCb— 
Moi, CBATOH WM CKpOMHBIH, 

Y te6a OH TOKE CCT, 

Ti noayMai, BCIOMHH. 


Bcex, Koro B3AAa BOHMHAa, 

Kak aoro coAgata 

IIpopoguaa xOTb OgHa 
€HUHHa KOra-TO... 


VM npuxogntca cka3aTb, 
UtTo nw3 Bcex Tex *KeHUJHH, 
Kak Bcerfa, pOAHYIO MaTb 
BcnoMHHalWvT MeHbIIe. 


VW sue MpuHATO pogHon 
CeTosaTb HampacHo,— 

B cpok uHOu, B AI06BM HHO 
MatTb cama ObIAa 2KeHOH 

C TeM Ke M1paBOM BAaCTHEIM. 


Ala, Apy3ba, AjWOOBb *KeHbI,— 
Kro He 3HaA — 1poBepbTe,— 
Ha Bovine CHABHeH BOMHBEI 
VU, Onirh MomaeT, CMepTH. 


Thi eH TOABKO He Tepes, 
Tot aio6BH, 4TO BUpaBe 
O6o04putTb, mpegoctepeun, 
OcyAHTb, IpOCAaBHTB. 


BHOBb JOCTaHb AMCTOK NMCbMa, 
Ilepeuru cHayaaa, 

IlycTb B 3€EMAAHKE MOAYTbMa, 
Hy-ka, rae Ona Cama 

To MHCbMO mucaana? 


215 


It’s our last reserve of hope, 
Safe, inviolable. 


We might need it some dark day, 
So we guard it, jealous. 

It’s not something to be shared 
With the other fellows. 

Sacred, modest, it’s all mine, 

Not meant for another. 

And it’s just the same for you, 
Please remember, brother. 


Of all those that war has taken 
Far from home, there’s no man 
Who has not been waved farewell 
By at least one woman.... 


And of those devoted women 
It must be admitted 

That the mother is the one 
Least of all regretted. 


Still, she doesn’t sit complaining 
Sadly of her luckless life. 

She’s had love, she’s had her hour, 
She herself has been a wife, 
Wielding wifely power. 


And a wife’s devoted love, 

As was known aforetime, 
Stronger is than war, than even 
Death itself in wartime. 


Only you must not deny 
Woman’s love, that rightly 
Can console, advise, assist 


Judge you far from lightly. 


Take it out and read it through, 
That much cherished letter 
Though the dug-out light is low. 
When she sat and wrote to you, 
Were things any better? 


216 


I[pu KakOM Ha 9TOT pa3 
I]pumocrmaacn cBeTer 
To AM CilaAM B STOT aac, 
To Ab MemaaH AeTH, 

To Ab 60AeAa TOAOBA 
TsKKO, He BIIEpBHIe, 
Ortoro, 6paT, aro _Aposa 
He ropat cnpsie?.. 


BnpaxKena B TOT BO3 OAHA, 
Pa3Be He yCcTaHeT? 

Jja 3a4em Te6e *eHa 
dKaaOBaTBCA CTaHerT? 


JKenb AymaloT, Aioba, 

UTO HHOE CAOBO 

Bce *« ckopeH HalaeT Te6x 
Ha Bove *KHBOrO. 


Hinye xen BCe AoOpH, 
be33aBeTHEI BAOCTAaAb, 
Zjaxe Te, 4TO AO Nop 
BblAH BeEAbMBI IEPOCTO. 


Cmex— He CMeX, CAY4aAOCb MHE 
C *xeHaMH BCTpeyaTbca, 

Or KOTOpHIX Ha BOHE 

TOAbKO H CliacaTBca. 


UeM TOMHTBCA JCHb 3a AHEM 
C Toi KeHOIO-KpOUIKOH, 
Ayame 10A3aTb NO OrHeM 
Vian nog 6om6exKon. 


ques IATb MpOHAA aTak, 
aTb WMECTYO B CYTKH... 
Brpouem, 9TO TOABKO Tak, 
TOABKO pag IyTKH. 


Het, Apy3ba, AlOOoBb KeHEI,— 
CorHio pa3 lpospeppre,— 

Ha Bote CHAbHeH BOHHEI 

Vi, 6niTb MO*KeT, CMepTH. 


217 


When she snatched a moment, did she 
Have good lighting by her? 

Were the children fast asleep, 

Or did they annoy her? 

Or—not for the first time either — 
Was her poor head aching,. 

All because the logs were damp 

And the fire was smoking?... 


Harnessed to the daily grind, 
Lonely, tired, but coping, 
She'll put up with it, she won’t 
Worry you by moping. 


Wives know better and they think, 
Confident and loving, 

That a cheerful word will keep 
You among the living. 


Yes, in wartime wives are good, 
Generous entirely, 

Even those who may have been 
Hags, to put it squarely. 


Seriously, I’ve met wives on 
More than one occasion, 
From the likes of whom a war 
Was the sole salvation. 


Facing them from day to day 
Took ten times the courage 
Needed for a bomber rai 

Or a heavy barrage. 


Better sit through five attacks, 
Then wait for another.... 

No, don’t take me seriously, 
I'm just joking, brother. 


For a wife’s devoted love, 

As was known aforetime, 
Stronger is than war, than even 
Death itself in wartime. 


218 


HV ogHo CkKa3aTb O Hei 

Bor 6 Moran BHadaAe: 

UTo Kopoye, TO AAHMHHEH — 
Ta Atlo6oBb, BOMHAa AH? 


Ho, 6ecrpeneTHO B AHUO 
Tanga BCAKOH pase, 
A 3aMOABHA OnI CAOBIIO 
3a aio6osb, NpescraBETe. 


Kak BOHMHa Ha 2KH3Hb HM IAA, 
CKOAbKO HH Waxaaa, 

Ho aiw6osp nepexnaa 

Cpok ee HeMaAbIii. 


VW wegapom uety, Apyr, 
ITucbMeyja Aopoxe, 

YTo W3 Tex AaAeCKHX Pyk, 
Aopormx ycraanx pyk 

B Tpemukax 110 Koxe. 


V1 ue 3pa B3niBalo A 

K »eHaM HaCcTOADIMM: 

— JKeHb, MHABIe Apy3ba, 
Bul numute aaye. 


He aeuuntecb k IIMCbMELly 
ITpunucatp, 4To Hago 
Tenepaay au, 6oiiny, 
Oro — Kak Harpaga. 


Hert, Tosapuiy, He 3a6yAb 
Ha Bolive »KecTOKOH: 
Y BOWE! KOPOTKHH NyTD, 
Y aio6Bu— Aarexui. 


Vi ee 60AbmIOMy 4HIO 
Cpoku 6AH3KH HBIHE. 


A K 4eMy A pedb KAOHIO? 
Bot k ¥emMy, pogHble. 


219 


And there is one point on which 
No one needs assuring: 

War, or love that woman feels — 
Which is more enduring? 


Looking truth straight in the eye 
And without demurring, 
It’s for woman’s love, my friends, 
That I'd put a word in. 


And, whatever war may do, 
Love has proved the stronger. 
War may come and war may go, 
Love has lasted longer. 


That’s the reason why, my friend, 
Nothing can be dearer, 

Than the hurried letter, penned 

By that well-known, rough-skinned hand, 
Frail, work-worn, and weary. 


If the rigours of this war 
You would care to soften, 

I appeal to you: “Dear wives, 
Try to write more often. 


“General or private — he 

Needs all your affection. 

Add those few fond words—to him 
It’s a decoration.” 


So, my friend, please don’t forget: 
War may seem the stronger; 

But for war the road is short, 
While for love it’s longer. 


Yes, true love shall win the day, 
And the day draws nearer. 


What might this be leading up to? 
Let me make it clearer. 


220 


Bcex, KOro B3AAa BOHHa, 

Kax Aoro cOAAaTa 

IIpopoguaa xOTb OgHa 
€HIMHHa KOrda-TO... 


Ho xOTA MW KaAKO MHE, 
Cam MOMOU4b HE B CHAE, 
UTo ocTaaca B CTOpoHe 
Tepkuy MoH Bacuani. 


He CAyYHAOCh HUKOTO 
IIpopoguts B Aopory. 


Tloaio6utTe spl ero, 
Alesywixnu, eti-6ory! 


Atwo6aT ACTUHKOB Y Hac, 
KoHHHKN B TMoueTe. 


O6patutecb, Npocum Bac, 
K Matyurke-nexote! 


Ilycrb TOT KOHHWK Ha KOHe, 
AeTUHK B CamMoaeTe, 

HM, ogHako, Ha BOHHe 
Tlepppii paa—nexore. 


Uycrs TawKHct Kpacus coboik 
Vi ropau B pa6oote, 

A Begelb MalinHy B 60H — 
IlokAOHMCh MexoTe. 


Ilyctb popcucr aprHAaepucT 
B 6oesom pacuerte, 
Orcrpeanaci—He ropaKce, 
Alena cyTb—B nexote. 


OG6oltiauTe Bcex NOoApad, 
Ayume He Haiigete: 
OOpaTutTe HexXHBIN B3rARg, 
Alepyurkn, K nexoTe. 


221 


Of all those that war has taken 
Far from home, there’s no man 
Who has not been waved farewell 
By at least one woman. 


But, although I’m sorry for him, 
I can’t help it, really, 

If he’s somehow been left out, 
Has my own Vassili. 


No one came to see him off 
At the hour of leaving. 


Girls, let Tyorkin have your love, 
All that you can give him! 


You all love our gallant fliers 
And our cavalry, 


Please, dear girls, give more attention 
To the infantry. 


Horsemen spur their noble chargers, 
Pilots ride the sky, 

But the foremost in the fighting 
Are the infantry. 


Tank crews, though you may be handsome, 
Fearless in the fray, 

As you pass them, take your hat off 

To the infantry. 


Though the gunner is a credit 
To the artillery, 
He still owes the final outcome 
To the infantry. 


Weigh them up in turn, dear maidens, 
Better there can’t be: 

Spare a glance of warm affection 

For the infantry. 


222 


Tloaw6ute moaogua, 
Cepaye nogapute, 
{lo no6eqgHoro KoHa 
BepxHo noawbute! 


223 


Let your heart’s devoted love 
Ever shine before him; 

And, until your dying day, 
Cherish and adore him! 


224 


OTAHX TEPKHHA 


Ha sotne —B NyTH, B TenAyKe, 
B recuote a1060H n36yuKn, 

B OanHaaxe HAb NorpebyuiKe,— 
Tam, rage cayyai NpuBeseT,— 


Ayure HeT, Kak 6e3 xAonoT, 

bes nepuunl, 6e3 noayuiKn, 
ITpHMoctach KOH-KakK APyr K ApyxKke, 
OTgoxuyTb... MAHYT WeCTBCOT. 


Zlame Ooabile 6 He MeIaAo, 

Ho COAAaTY Ha BOHMHE 

Cpok Tako JAA CHa, NOKaayH, 
O%KHO BHJCTb AMLIb BO CHE. 


Vs mpeacrasp, 4To BAPy!, MOKHHYB 
B Hexuii uac nepeAHHi Kpait, 

Tel c NONyTHOIO MaliMHon 
Tlonaqaeuib MpAMO B pai. 


MblI 34€Cb BOBCe He 7KeAaeM 
Ilyrkow Tow 6aecHyTb cnpocta, 


TYORKIN HAS A REST 


In the rolling railway wagon, 
In the crowded wayside shack, 
In the dug-out, in the cellar, 
Anywhere you have the luck, 


Nothing’s better, without fuss and 
Without feather mattress deep, 
Than to huddle close together 
For six hundred minutes’ sleep. 


Even longer wouldn’t harm you, 
But ten hours, as it would seem, 
For the man on active service 
Is no more than just a dream. 


But suppose they send you packing 
From the Front, to your surprise, 
And you hitch a passing lorry, 
And you land in paradise? 


No, we don’t intend to bore you 
With the joke, well-known in war, 


226 


Uro, MOA, pai c MepejHHM KpaeM 
DSro— cMe@2xKHHIE MECTA. 


Pai mo mpas.je. -Jon. Kpnvedko. 
BenuHkK—Hnorn o6meTait. 
_la\bule — rOpHHa WH Ne4Ka. 
Bce, uro Haao. Wem ne pai? 


Bot  B KHHTre TH OTME4EH, 
Pa3.eBaHcn, MpOXxoAH. 

MW smaeabMn y TenmAOH meqH 
Ha cpoboge monean. 


OcMOTPHCb BOKPYI JeTa\bHO, 
Bot B pay TBOA KpPOBaTB. 

MH sy4TH, aro sTO— CnaAbHA, 
To ecTb Mecro—cCnelyHaAbHO 
4jAg Toro, YTo6 TOABKO cath. 


Cratb, COAgaT, BECb CDOK HeJeCABHHIH, 
CaMoAH4Ho, Gespa34eAbHO 

3aHHMaTb KpOBaTb CBON, 

Cratb B CYXOM TeI.\e MOCTeEABHOM, 
CnaTb B O.JHOM OeA\be HaTe\BHON, 
Kak MOAOKEHO B pad. 


HM no crporomy npurasy, 

Kovb Tebe 3,4ecb ONTH TIPHUIAOC, 
Tt, NOMHMO CHa, 06”3aH 

Ilnuyy B ACH YeETHIpe pasa 
TIpuuumatb. Ho Kak?— Bonpoc. 


Bcex MpHBErueK MepemeHa 
Tlonaya\y TAapKeAa. 

Ectb B pal0 HEAB3A C KOACHA, 
MoKHO TOABEO CO CTOAA. 


MH HHKTO B pal HE MOXKET 
beraTb K KyXH€ C KOTEAKOM, 
VMsHeAb3A CHACTS B OZERKE 
M xopexutp x.e6 WITBKOM. 


227 


That when you’re up in the front line, 
Paradise is just next door. 


Truly paradise. A building. 

Porch with birch-broom — wipe your feet. 
Common room. Stove burning brightly. 
Paradise! What more d’you need! 


Get your name down in the guest-book. 
Hang your things up. This way, please. 
Walk up to the cheerful stove and 
Warm your shoulders at your ease. 


Tour the place with due attention. 
Note your bed — it’s in that row. 
This part of the accommodation 

Is for one sole occupation, 

Namely, sleep, we’d have you know. 


Soldier, sleep through all your seven 
Free and independent days. 

Go to bed and close your eyes, 
Sleep, enjoy the sheets and pillow, 
Sleep, clad in your underlinen, 

As ordained in paradise. 


Under strictest regulations 
Operative as from now, 

You are under obligation 

To partake of Army rations 
Four times every day. But how? 


Any sudden change of habit 
Takes a fellow by surprise. 

You must eat from off a table — 
Laps are banned in paradise. 


No, you can’t rush to the cookhouse, 
Out to grab what you can get; 

Or, in coat and hat, sit slicing 
Bread-crusts with your bayonet. 


228 


UW takaa ycraHoBka 
Crporo-nacTporo Aana, 
Uro y HOF TBOHX BUHTOBKa 
HaxogautTeca He AOAKHA. - 


VB ywep6 cBoei npuBErdKe 
Tut He MO#Kellb 3a CTOAOM 
YtepeTbca pykaBHuKOH 

Wau —Tak BOT — pyKaBoM. 


YU Kkoraa MOKOHUMIb C MHUWeH, 
He 3a6yapb ete, coagat, 

Uro B paw 3a roaenuiye 
AOwKKy IpATaTb He BeAAT. 


Bce TakHe OrOBOpKH 

Pa306paB, NOHAB MyTeM, 

IIlpuusa B cyeT Bacnanit Tepkun 
Vi peuina: 

— He nponagem. 


Bot o6e4 nponiea HM yKHH. 

— Kak BaM HpaBHTCca y Hac? 
— Hnuszero. Hemyoxxo 6 xyxe, 
To u 6p1a0 6 B CaMbIi pa3... 


TlokypHa, B340xHyA 4 Ha 60K. 
Kak-TO CTpaHHO roAoBe. 
ITpocrpinsa — nyckali O4Ha 641, 
Het, Tak Ha, MOA, Cpa3y ABe. 


Yuctota— o3H06 no Koxe, 
M1 HeEAOBKO, 4TO 340poB, 
A AO kpaiiHocTH Noxoxe, 
byATO B rOcmuTaAe BHOBb. 


BepexeT maeyo B KposaTH, 
YoaoBou He MOBepHeT. 
Bot u AeByuKa B XaaaTe 
Cosepmiaet cao o6xo4. 


Ajpoe cipana, Tpoe caesa 
K Heli pasBeAdHKOB ToTUAC. 


229 


There’s another regulation 

That you'd better not ignore: 
Don’t, repeat, don’t park your rifle 
Down beside you on the floor. 


And, in contrast to the custom 
You've observed more than enough, 
Be it known that you must never 
Wipe your lips clean with your cuff. 


And, when you have finished eating, 
Note that here in paradise, 

You don’t stuff your eating irons 
Down your boot-top, Army-wise. 


Going over these provisos 

And the various reasons why, 

Vasya Tyorkin weighed them up and 
Then decided: 

“We'll get by.” 


Dinner’s over, then comes supper. 
“Well, chum, what d’you make of it?” 
“Oh, not bad. It’s all right, really. 
Known much worse, I must admit.” 


So he lights up, sighs, rolls over; 
Something strange under his head. 
Why, must be a sheet, or something — 
No, there’s two sheets on this bed! 


They’re so clean, you get the shivers. 
Funny — youre as right as rain, 

Yet for all the world you might be 
Back in hospital again. 


And he doesn’t move his shoulder, 
And he doesn’t turn his head. 
Now the girl in white is coming, 
Glancing briefly at each bed. 


And the advance patrol] gets moving — 
Two men here and three men there. 


230 


A 0Ha, Kak KOpOaena: 
Moa, O4Ha, a CKOABKO Bac. 


TepkKHH CMOTpHMT CKBO3b peCHHUH: 
O Kako Tam peub Kpace. 
Xopoula, Kak rOBOpHTca, 
B 11pH@poxTosonw moaoce. 


Xopomla, MpH CMyTHOM CBeTe, 
Ajopora, Kak HeT Apyron, 

VM BuAaTb, peOata oTH 
OTgOxHyAM AeHb, Apyroit... 


Con-3a6BeHbe Ha Mopore, 
POBHO, CAaAKO ABIIMHT py Ab. 
AX, KaK XOAOAHO B Aopore 
Y o6be3ga rge-Hnbyap! 


Kak MIpoxBaTbiBaeT BeTep, 
Kak AyHa TemaoM 6egHa 

Ax, KaK Tpy4HO BCe Ha CBeTe: 
Cayx6a, *H3Hb, 3MMa, BOHHAa. 


Kak TocKyeT O MocTeAK 

Ha BotiHe coagaT xKHBON! 

UrTo *® He CIMTCA B CaMOM AeAe? 
He yKpil1bca Ab C TOAOBOH? 


Iloauaca wu ¥ac Npoxogut, 

C Ooky Ha 60k, HaB3HH4b, HAI. 
XoTb yGelica— He BEIXOAMT. 
Bce xpanat, a Tb Ka3HHCb. 


To AH XKapkKo, TO An 396Ko, 

He nouwAth, a CHa BCE HeT. 

— Aa Hadenb THI, napens, wanKy,— 
Bapyr AaloT emy coset. 


Pa3bACHANWT: 

— Th He Nepsuiit, 

He sropou crpaaaemb TYT. 
Tlonayaay Haun HEPBbI 
Cnatp 6e3 wank He Jair. 


231 


“Boys, you've got poor me outnumbered,” 
Says she with a regal air. 


Tyorkin opens half an eye and 
Looks. Does she deserve the fuss? 
As the Army would express it: 

For the front-line zone —she’ll pass. 


Lovely in the room’s dim lighting, 
Not one rival here has she, 

And it’s plain those lads have all been 
Resting for two days or three. 


On the threshold of oblivion, 
With your breathing quiet and calm, 
Think: out there upon the highroad 
You could hardly call it warm 


There, the wind can cut right through you, 
And the moon gives little heat. 

Army service, winter, warfare — 

Life is anything but sweet. 


How in time of war the soldier 

Hankers for a nice warm bed! 

What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep, then? 
Why not cover up you head? 


Half an hour gone, then another... 
Toss, turn, lie supine, then prone, 
Doesn't help at all. It’s hopeless. 
Others snore, you lie and moan. 


Now you sweat and now you shiver, 
Still no sleep. What’s wrong with you? 
“Here, son, why not put your hat on?” 
Says a voice out of the blue, 


And explains: 

“You're not the first one 

Or the last to go through that. 

Nerves, that’s what it is— won't let you 
Go to sleep without your hat.” 


232 


V egpa waged poAuMblit 
ToaosnHon yOop coagar, 
Boesou, npomaxuin AbIMOM 
VM 3emaeH, Kak TOBOpAT,— 


Tot, O6HOUIeHHEIM Ha CAaBy 
Ilog gow azemM HM Od Orne, 
UTo ellje KOAIUKON pKaBon 
Kak-To 1popsBaH OnIA Ha HeM; 


ToT, B KOTOPOM XKH3Hb NpOBOAMIIb, 
He cHyMaa,— Tak xopom! — 

U koraa KO CHY OTXOAHIUB, 

Mi korga Ha CMepTb HAeWIb,— 


BuduT: HeT, He 3pA NMOCAyUIaA 
Tex, YTO 3HaAM, B 4EM pe30H: 
Kak-TO BApyl COrpeancb yin, 
Kax-To craao MaArye, rayuie— 
VM cero cBepHyAo B COH. 


Vs npocnyaca On 40 cpoka 

C 4yBCTBOM PpeAKOCTHbIM — TOUb-B-TOUb 
CaoBHo rge-Hub6ygb daaeko 

Jlo6nipaa 3a Ty HOU; 


CAOBHO BBIKyMaaca. rge-To, 
[ae — XOTb BHOBb Ty4a BEPHHCb— 
He 3uma 6blAa, a AeTO, 

He soiina, a MpoOcro %*M3Hb. 


Wc ognod Horo’ o6yToi, 
Illanky cHaTb 3a6b1B CBON, 
Ha ucxoge nepBblx cyToK 
OH 3agyMaACA B palo. 


XOpouwi XapuH H xaTa, 
OcyxAaTb He CTaHeM 3pa, 
TOAbKO, 3HaeTe, BOMHAa-TO 
He 3axonuena, Apy3ba. 


Ilocyaute camu, 6paTyBEt, 
Kro 6 4yaHeii NpHaAyMaTb Mor: 


233 


So he takes his battle headgear 
And he pulls it on straightway — 
Fragrant with the mingled smell of 
Smoke and earth, as soldiers say; 


Frayed in honourable service 

In the rain and under fire, 
Torn and nicked in many places 
By the enemy’s barbed wire; 


Hat you’ve almost spent your life in, 
Hat you’ve worn both night and day, 
Whether dozing off to sleep or 
Sallying forth into the fray. 


And in time Vassili knows he 
Did right well to take the tip. 
Soon his ears are warm and cosy, 
Soon he’s feeling really dozy, 
Soon he’s drifting off to sleep. 


And he wakes before Reveille 
With a feeling wondrous rare, 
As if he was just returning 
From a happy land somewhere; 


As if he’d been swimming somewhere 
Far away from worldly strife; 

No harsh winter there, but summer; 
No grim war, but simply —life. 


One boot off and one boot on, and 
Hat still down across his eyes, 
Tyorkin suddenly turned thoughtful 
In this earthly paradise. 


Nice to have good grub and shelter, 
And there’s no real cause to fret; 
But, of course, you must remember 
That the war’s not over yet. 


When you think about it, brothers, 
Why, it’s almost past belief: 


234 


Pa3AeBaTbcA, pa3yBaTBCA 
Ha TakoW KOpOTKHM CpoK. 


TyT o6BnIKHeWIb— Cpa3y Kpblllka, 
UyTb NOKHHEMIb 9TOT pai. 
Ayume ckaxkeM: MepeAbiiiKa. 
Boabuie BpeMA He TepaAH. 


Sakycua, coOpaaca, abled, 
fleao 6nIAO Ha Ma3n. 
[py30Buk WAeT,— 3acaAbluiaa, 
ToaocyerT: 

— TJogpesn. 


VM, aeTbipe nyfa rpy3y 
Ao6aBana 0 NyTH, 

UYepes 6opT BBaAHACA B Ky30B, 
Tlocryyaa: Aapaii, KpyTH. 


Exaa— 6An3KO AM, AaAeKO— 
Komy Had0, BHIMepAi. 

TOabKO, pal, Mpomai JO cpoKka, 
VM onaTb—nepegunit Kpait. 


Cockouna y MOBOpoTa,— 
Tasqb—u 40Ma, y OFHA. 

— Hy, paccxasniBaiite, 4To TyT, 
Kak TyT, XAOMUBI, 6€3 MeHA? 


— Cam paccxaspipai. Komy xe 
Heoxota 3HaTb TOT4AC, 
Kak TaM, 4TO B palo y Bac... 


— Xopomo. Hemnoxxo 6 xyxe, 
Bepuo, 6n1A0 6 B CaMBI pa3... 


Xopowo nocnaa, 6oraro, 

OcyxaaTb He CTaHeM 3pA. 
Toabko, 3HaeTe, BOHHa-TO 
He 3aKonyena, Apy3ba. 


Kak 4JoWAem AO TOM rpanHypl 
Ilo Bapmasckomy mocce, 


235 


Hang your coat up, take your boots off, 
For a spell of time so brief. 


ust get used to it and then you're 
one for when it’s time to quit! 
Better call it just a breather — 
There’s no other word for it. 


Snatch a hasty bite of something, 
Get your gear on. Go outside. 
That was great. 

A lorry coming... 
Stop it. “Hey, give us a ride!” 


Add a hundred pounds and forty 
To the Army lorry’s freight; 
Scramble up the side and over, 
Bang the roof. “Get going, mate!” 


Is it very far to travel? 

Check the distance, if you want. 
Farewell, heaven, for the meantime, 
Here we are again—the Front. 


jump down quickly at a turning. 

ee, a campfire. Now you're home. 
“Well, what’s it béen like without me? 
Did you manage on your own?” 


“Never mind. How’s paradise, chum? 
You could tell us quite a bit. 
How did you get on with it?” 


“Oh, not bad. It’s all right, really. 
Known much worse, I must admit.” 


Yes, he slept and slept in comfort — 
And he had no cause to fret. 

But, of course, we must. remember 
That the war’s not over yet. 


When we've made it to the border 
On the Warsaw motorway, 


236 


Bot Toraa, kak roBopuTca, 
OrtgoxHem. V1 To ue Bee. 


A noka—Bs NyTH, B Tenaymke, 
B recuote aw6oi u36ymKku, 

B 6anHAaxe UAb Norpebyuike, 
Tae Ham cayyait IIpHBeseT ,— 


Ayame HeT, Kak 6e3 xaonor, 

bes nepuun, 6e3 nogym«u, 
IIpumocracb MAOTHeH Apyr K Apyxke, 
OTAOXxHyTb. 

A TaM— Brepeg. 


237 


That’s the time for us to rest, friends, 
And not all of us, I'd say. 


Meanwhile, in the rolling wagon, 
In the crowded wayside shack, 
In the dug-out, in the cellar, 
Anywhere you have the luck— 


Nothing’s better, with no fuss and 
With no downy feather bed, 
Than to huddle close together, 
Rest — 

And then push on ahead. 


238 


B HACTYIMNAEHHH 


CTOABKO KHAN B O6oponHe, 
UtTo ye c nepegosou 
Camu IAM, 65IBaAO, KOHH, 
Kak B ceaAe, Ha BOZONON. 


VW sua Bech TOT aec O6KHTHIH, 
V1 wa Bech nepegHnit kpaii 

Y 3€MAAHOK AOMOBHTHIA 
Pa3qaBaaca Necui aait. 


Vi npwxKuBuiniica Ha AMBO, 
Terymox— 6n11a nopa— 
Ilo yrpam 6yqHA KoM4HBa, 
Kak xO3AHHa ABOpa. 


V1 BO cCaaBy 3HMHHX OyszeH 
B 6aHe— apy He *KaAei — 
Cekavcb BEHHKaMH AIOAM 
Ba3ku coOcTBeHHOK cBOel. 


Ha Bodue, Kak Ha IIpHBaAe, 
Orauixaan Mmpo 3amac, 


ON THE OFFENSIVE 


Quite at home on the defensive, 
Horses of their own accord 
Used to amble down to water 
Just like any village herd. 


In the thronged and busy forest 

And along the forward line, 

Dogs, protective of their dug-outs, 
Barkea and yelped from time to time, 


And the cock, as much at home as 
In the farmyard, used to crow, 
Waking regular as clockwork 

The Divisional CO. 


And, to celebrate the winter, 

In the bath-house — steam galore!— 
Soldiers plied their birch-twig bundles, 
Shedding sweat from every pore. 


War? A spell in bivouac, rather; 
And they whiled the time away 


240 


dKuan, «TepkuHa» anTaan 
Ha gocyre. 
Bapyr — upnka3... 


Bapyr — 1puka3, KoHely CTO#HKe, 
VWs yx rae-To Aaaeku 
Onycrepuime 3eMAAHKH, 
Cuportanssle AbIMKH. 


VM yxe o6stkHOBeHHO 

To, 4TO MHHYA IeAbIt TOd, 
Touno geub. Bot Tak, HaBepHo, 
Vi sottna, uw Bce mpoiizet... 


VM coagaT Mow nocegeanin, 
KoAb OCTaHeTCA 2KHBOH, 
BcnoMHUT: TO-TO 6BIAO JeAo, 
Kak cpaxaancb 104 Mocksoit... 


Mi c mevaabio ropgeanson 

OH HauHeT B Kpyry BHyYaT 
Cao paccka3 HeToponansutit, 
Ecam CAYWIaTb 3aXOTAT... 


ipyaxo 3HaTb. Co crapuKaMu 
€ Bcerfa MBI Tak AOOpsI. 
Tam MOCMOTpHM. 

A moKaMectT 
{laaeko Ao Ton NlOppl. 


bot B pasrape. AbIMKou cuHeit 
Ceppiti cHer 3aBOAOKAO. 

VM 8 yenu wget Bacuani, 

Tlog orem wget B Ceao. 


Mi Ao oruero nopora, 
Alo poaumoro cena 
Yepes To ceao Aopora— 
He unaye— mpoaeraa. 


241 


Reading Tyorkin when off duty. 
Then the orders came one day.... 


Orders. No more idle waiting. 

And they soon left far behind 

Empty dug-outs, plumes of smoke that 
Waved forlornly in the wind. 


And they took it quite for granted 
That a year had whistled by 
Like a day, as wartime, doubtless, 
And all else must pass away. 


And my ageing, grey-haired soldier, 
Should he still be safe and sound, 
Will recall: ““That was a business, 
When we fought by Moscow townl...” 
Slowly he will tell the story 

With a sad but prideful air, 

To his grandchildren around him,: 
If they only wish to hear.... 


Since we’re often far from patient 
With the old, it’s hard to say. 
We shall see.... 

But in the meantime 
That’s a long, long way away. 


* * * 


Battle raging. Blue pall hanging 
Over snow as grey as lead. 
Heavy firing. ‘Tyorkin’s section 
Forges doggedly ahead. 


And the village they're approaching 
Lies between him and the place 

Where his fathers dwelt before him, 
Where he spent his childhood days. 


242 


rc 


Uro nog~eaaenib— HHOMY 

VV enje Kpykuee NyTb. 

VY wget HHO AO AOmMy 

To AM CTeIIbIO HE3HaKOMOH, 
To Ab ropaMH rae-HH6y Ab... 


Hu3ko CMepTb Haf WallkOH CBHLIeT, 
XOTb KOFO COrHET B AYTYy. 


[Jens “get, Kax 6yATo ujeT 
UTo-TO B MOAe Ha CHeTy. 


VM s60nyaM, ITO MOMOAOKe, 
Uro Biepsple Tak HAYT, 

B 9TOT 4ac BCero AOpoxe 
3HaTb OAHO, 4TO Tepkun TyT. 


_Xopomo— xoTa o3Ho6yjeM 
ITponumaet nog orHem — 

He mocaeqgHHM CaMbIM XAONIEM 
Tloxa3aTb ce6a npv HeM. 


TOAKy HeT, YTO B MHT TOCKAHBHIH, 
Kak cuapag Oeper pas6er, 
Tepkuu Tak Ke XACT pa3phiBa, 
KaMHeM KHHYBIIMCb Ha CHET; 


Uro Had CTpaxoM MeHbile BAaCTH 
Y toro B 6ow nogyac, 

Kro cygp6y cBow u cyacTbe 
Ucnnitaa ye He pa3; 


Urto, OsITh MOET, 9Ta CHAa 
YUeACBLUIHM H3 OFHA 
YUeaoseka BBHIHOCHAa 

Zlo cerogHsliHero JHA,— 


Alo Bor sto 6opo3genku, 
Tae AexKUT, BOOpaB *KHBOT, 
Ou, o6ummTEI KOKeH TOHKON 
Yeaosek. AexKUT HW KET... 


243 


Life in war is harsh, unbending: 

Not all go the direct way. 

Some head home, their tired steps bending 
Over dreary plains unending, 

Or through mountains far away..:. 


Death comes whistling low around them, 
And they keep their heads well down, 


Pushing on, as if in search of 
Something on the snowy ground. 


And some of the younger soldiers, 
Those for whom all this is new, 
Thank their lucky stars that Tyorkin’s 
By their side in danger too. 


It’s as well that, though the shelling 
Sends cold shivers down your spine, 
You don’t show yourself the last one— 
Not while Tyorkin’s in the line. 


No harm done if, at the moment 
When a shell comes swooping low, 
Tyorkin, too, waits for the explosion, 
Flattened face down in the snow; 


If to fear the hardened soldier 
Proves in every way as prone, 

Who has diced with fate and fortune 
Many times before—and won; 


If this urge for self-protection 

Is what’s helped him to survive, 

Brought him safe through withering shellfire, 
To this very day alive; 


Brought him to that snow-filled furrow, 
Where he lies, his stomach in, 

Waiting, just a human being 

With no cover but his skin.... 


244 


['qe-To TaM, 3a NMOAeM O6paHHEM, 
AymMy AyMaeT cBo1w 

ToT, 10 4bHM 4acaM KapMaHHbIM 
Bce aacht HAyT B Gow. 


V1 3a Bceli BoKpyr maab6ow, 
3a pa3phBaMH B AbIM 

OH CACAHT, BAaAbIKa OOK, 
Ms pemaet, 4To K yemy. 


['qe-To TaM, B MecuaHou Kpyye, 

B 6anHAaxKe CyXOM, ChITIydeM, 

Taaaa B KapTy, reHepaa 

Te qachI cBou AOcTaA; 

XAONHYA KpbIIKOH, TOUHO ABeEpKoii, 
TloqHaAA.manky, BbITep MOT... 


VW gow qaaca, caput Tepkuu: 
— Bsxog! 3a Poauny! Bnepea}.. 


Vi xora caoBa on sTH— 

Kana y CMepTH Ha Kpalo— 
CoTHH pa3 4HTaA B razeTe 
VV ue pa3 canrxaa B 6010,— 


B Ayuwly BHOBb OHM BCTyMaAu 
C oaHMHakoBow To 

BaacTbio paBAbl HM Mewaan, 
Caaqkol ropeun cBATON; 


C Tow cHaAoi HeM3MeHHOH, 
Uro awe B OFOHb BeZeT, 
Uro 3a pce OTBET CBALICHHBIi 
Ha ce6a yxe Geper. 


— Bssog! 3a Poguny! Bnepea!.. 


AetiteHaHT weroaeparpiit, 
KoHHHK, CneuleHHbI B 60ax, 
Tlo-MaAbyuuieubu ycaTbin, 
Beceabuak, MAACyH, Ka3ak, 
Tepsxim sctaa, CTpeAAA C xody, 


245 


And, with many things to think of, 
Somewhere rearward of the fray, 
There is one whose watch all other 
Watches on the field obey. 


Following the action round him 
Through the smoke, and din, and roar, 
He’s the man in charge, deciding 
Every move, and what it’s for. 


In a sheltered cliffside cavern 
Hollowed out of trickling sand, 
Studying his map, the General 
Pulls his pocket watch out, and 
Snaps the lid shut like a trapdoor, 
Shifts his hat and mops his brow... 


Tyorkin, waiting, hears the order: 
“For the Homeland! Here we go!” 


Death-defying call to action— 
Many, many times before, 
Tyorkin’s read it in the papers, 
Heard it in the field, what’s more; 


But it shakes him to the centre 

Of his being, nonetheless, 

With the force of truth, of anguish, 
Of sweet, holy bitterness; 


With a force irrevocable, 
Urging men against the foe, 
Like a sacred vow upholding 
All the things men cherish so. 


“For the Homeland! Here we go!” 


And their dashing, gay lieutenant, 
Cossack, joker, dancer, wit, 

With the lip-fuzz of a youngster, 
Brilliant horseman, now on foot, 
Jumped up, firing from the waist, 


246 


Tlobexaa Briepeg CO B3BOJ0OM, 
O6xoOdA CeAO C 3af0B. 
VU mpoaer yxe Aaaeko 
Caeg ero B cHery ray60Kom — 
fJjaabiie Bcex B jem CAeAOB. 


BoT ye y KpaHHew xaTH 
TlogHAA OH AAAOHb K ycaM: 

— Moaoguni! Bnepeg, pe6ata! — 
KpukHyA Tak MOAOALeBAaTO, 
Caosno Opra Uanaes cam. 
TOAbKO BApyr Blleped MOAaaca, 
Octymmaca Ha Gery, 

UeTKuM CAed eTO IIpepBarca 

Ha cuery... 


V1 waIpHyA OH B CHer, KaK B BOAY, 
Kak MaAbYOHKa C AOAKH B BHP. 
Vi nouao B yenM 10 B3BOAy: 

— Panen! Panen KomanHaup!.. 


Tlog6exaau. WH torga-To, 
C tem u 6yaeT He 3a6nIT, 
Ou NpMBcTaa: 

— Bneped, pe6ata! 

A ne panen. A— y6ur... 


Kpai ceaa, 3agbl, 3a4BOPKH — 

B AByX Warax, B pyKax BOT-BOT... 
HM ysudea, nonsa Tepxuu, 

YTo pectu ero vepeg. 


— Bssog! 3a Pognny! Bnepeg!.. 


Vi AOBep4KBO 10 3Haky, 

3a TOBapuyjeM cneuta, 

C mecra Gpocwancb B aTaky 
Copok Ayui—ogHa gyula... 


Ecan ecTb B 600 yAay4a, 
To B ncxoge Bce nogpag 


247 


With his unit forward raced 
Towards the village, doubling round 
And his foot-tracks as he sprinted 
Outstripped all the rest imprinted 
Deep across the snowy ground. 


By the cottage at the end, 

To his mouth he cupped his hand: 

“That’s the stuff, lads! In and smash ’em!”— 
Just as brave and just as dashing 

As Chapayev used to be. 

All at once, he seemed to falter 

As he turned to run ahead, 

And his neatly printed footmarks 

Suddenly stopped dead.... 


As a boy into a river, 

He went plunging headlong down. 
“Wounded! The commander’s wounded!” 
Was the word that travelled round. 


Up they ran. And then what happened, 
They'll remember, every one. 

“Carry on!” he said, half rising. 

“I’m not wounded, lads. I’m done.” 


Village outskirts, backyards, orchards, 
ust two steps and we'll break through.... 
hat’s when Tyorkin realised that 

He must take the lead, and so— 


“For the Homeland! Here we go!” 


Confidently at his signal, 

Tyorkin’s comrades followed on, 
Charging straight into the village — 
Forty men that moved as one.... 


When the action’s been successful, 
When the day’s been truly won, 


248 


C noxBaaoh, BecbMa ropauel, 


Apyr o apyre ropopar. 


— TaHku JeHCcTBOBaAHM CAaBHO. 
— Iflan caneppi Moaogyom. 

— ApTHarepuaA TOAZaBHO 

He faapat B [pA3b AHIJOM. 

— A mexorta! 

— Kak no HoTam, 

Iifaa nexota. Hy 4a 4To Tam! 
AsuallHA — Hi Ta... 


CAOBOM, Ipocto— Kpacora. 


Vi 6nipaer Tak, He Ckpoem, 
Uro ycnex raa3a CAeNMT: 
CTOAbKO CBILNeTCA repoes, 
Uro — ran gnuiub— oan 3a6pnir. 


Ho Aaa TOYHOCTH NpHMepHoOn, 
Aaa NopadKa renepaa, 

KTO B C€AO BOpPBaACA TepBEM, 
3HaTb Ha MECTe MOKEAAaA. 


ZloAOKMAM, Kak OGBIUHO: 
MOA, TaKOH-TO B3AA CeAO, 
Ho He CMOFr ABHTbCA AMUHO, 
Tak Kak paHeH TAKeAO. 


VW troraa u3 Bcex damHanii, 

Bcex ceroqHAUIHHX HMeH — 
Tepkuu — Bbippaaocb — Bacnanii! 
Dro OnIA, KOHEYHO, OH. 


249 


All congratulate each other 
On the way the job’s been done. 


“Yes, the tanks were on top form there.” 
“And the sappers were a hit.” 

“And we always knew the gunners 
Wouldn’t land us in the—.” 

“And the infantry!” 

“Like butter... 

Never saw those boys fight better.” 
“And the Air Force too, you know....” 


Or, to sum it up— good show! 


But it has to be admitted 

That success is often blind. 
Name your heroes by the dozen, 
One will always slip the mind. 


But to keep the records tidy 

So that nothing might be missed, 
“Who broke first into the village?” 
Was the General’s request. 


He was told, in routine manner, 
So-and-so had taken it, 

But he couldn’t come in person, 
Since he had been badly hit. 


And of all the likely people 

One was named: wno should it be 
But our own Vassili Tyorkin? 
Yes, none other. It was he. 


250 


CMEPTE H BOHH 


3a Aaaekue IpuropKu 
YXOAMA CpaxkeHbA Kap. 

Ha cuery Bacuanit Tepxun 
Henogo6Opanupitt AaeKaa. 


Cuer nog HuM, Ha6paAKWH KPOBbIO 
Basacn rpyfol AeqAHOH. 

CmepTb CKAOHHAACb K H3TOAOBBIO: 
— Hy, coraaT, nowzem co MHOH. 


A Tenepb TBOA NOApyra, 
Hegaaexo mposoxy, 

Beaon Bpioron, 6eaon Bploron, 
Bpwrov caeg 3anopouty. 


Apornya Tepxun, 3amep3an 
Ha noctean cHerosoii. 

— SA ne 3Baa Te6a, Kocaa, 
Al COAMaT eye *KHBOH. 


CmepTb, CMeACb, HarHyAacb HWKe: 
— [loano, noano, Moaogeu, 


— = => = - 
Saree, SS ‘ 
<I SS = 


YW PASS = SE 
>= aie. - ; 4 NS 
~— — 4 — 
Nee Ny WS \ 


DEATH AND THE SOLDIER 


As the battle din receded 
Over the hills and far away, 
Tyorkin, lonely and unheeded, 
In the snow abandoned lay. 


Blood and snow to ice had hardened 
Underneath him. Stealthily, 

Death stooped over him and whispered: 
“Soldier, come along with me. 


“TI am now your own dear true-love, 
And we haven't far to go. 

I shall make the blinding blizzard 
Hide your trail with sifting snow.” 


Tyorkin shuddered as he froze there 
On his ice-encrusted bed. 

“TI don’t need you here, Kosaya,* 

I am still alive, not dead.” 


Laughing, Death stooped lower, saying: 
“Here, young fellow, that will do. 


*Death the Squint-Eyed. But female in Russian.— Tr. 


252 


A-To 3Hal0, A-TO BHXKy: 
Thl %HBOH, Ja He KMAeCL. 


MuMoxo40M TeHbIO CMepTHOH 
Hl TBOHX KOCHYAACb lek, 

A Te6e nu HeE3aMeTHO, 

UTo Ha HUX CyxXOH CHEKOK. 


Moero ue Ooiica Mpaka, 
Houb, mopeps, He xyxKe AHA... 


— A uero Te6e, ogHako, 
Hy2xHO AHYHO OT MeHA? 


CmeptTb kak 6yaTo Obl 3aMAAace, 
OTKAOHHAACh OT Heo. 
— Hyxno Mue... TaKkylO MaAOCTB, 
Hy nour 4To Hnuero. 


Hye 3HaK OAHH COrAacbA, 
Uto ycraa Gepeub TH 2KH3Hb, 
UTO 0 CM€pTHOM MOAHLIb 4ace... 


— Cam, BbIxogHT, NoAnMWINCch? — 
CmepTb nogyMaaa. 

— Hy aro xe,— 

Ilogmuinch, H Ha MOKOH. 

— Het, ysoan. Ce6e gopoxe. 

— He topryiica, goporon. 


Bce paBHo ufeulb Ha yOntab.— 
CmepTb nogBHHyAacb K TAedy.— 
Bce paBHO CTAHYAMCb ry6hl, 
CrpinyT 3y6nt... 

— He xouy. 


— A CMOTpH-kKa, JeAO K HON, 
Ha MOpos roputT 3apa. 

Ak Tomy, 4T06 MHe Kopoye 
VW teGe He Mep3uyTb 3p... 


— Tlorepnan. 
— Hy, uro TH, raynprit! 


253 


Though you live, your hours are numbered. 
I know better far than you. 


“As I passed, my deathly shadow 
Touched your cheeks so young and fair, 
And you haven't even noticed 

How the snow is settling there. 


“Do not fear my shades of darkness, 
Truly, night’s no worse than day....” 


“What d’you mean? Just what exactly 
Are you after, anyway?” 


Here Death almost seemed to falter, 
And she even half withdrew. 

“TY ask little, almost nothing... 

This is what I want of you: 


aust a token of agreement 
hat you’re weary of this world, 
That you pray for Death to free you....” 


“Sign my name, then, in a word?” 
Death fell thoughtful: 

‘You could say that — 

Sign for everlasting peace.” 

“Go! I sell my life more dearly.” 
“Don’t you bargain, lovey, please! 


‘“What’s the use? Your strength is failing.” 
Death drew closer, bent down low. 
“What’s the use? Your lips are freezing, 
Cold your teeth....” : 

“The. answer’s: No.” 


“Just look yonder. Night is falling, 
And the skyglow heralds frost. 
There’s no point in freezing slowly, 
While my precious time is lost...” 


“I can wait.” 
“You foolish fellow, 


254 


Beab A@KHIIb, BCErO CBEAO. 
A 6 re6a ToTaac TyAynoM, 
Yro6 yxe HaBexk Temao. 


Buxy, Bepumb. Bot a cae3n, 
Bot yx a Te6e Mnaei. 


— Bpems, a naayy or Moposa, 
He oT #®aaccTn TROeH. 


— Yro of cuactsa, aro oT 60An— 
Bce paso. A xOA0g ANT. 
3aBHAaCh MO3€MKa B MOA. 
Hert, re6a yx He HaiiZyT... 


Vs 3auem Te6e, noayMaii, 

Ecaw KTo H noabeper. 
Ilomaaeentb, 4TO He yMep 
3aecb, Ha MecTe, 6e3 XAONOT... 


— Iyrunib, Cmeprs, naeTeuh TeHeTa.— 
OrBepHya C TpyAoM NAeCIO.— 

Mue kak pa3 NOXKHTb OXxOTa, 

Aw He HRHA-TO ee... 


— Au BCTaHellb, TOAKY MaAo,— 
IIpogoaxaaa Cmeptp, cMeach.— 
A  BCTaHeillb— BCe CHaqaaa: 
XOAOA, CTpax, yCTaAOCTb, rpsA3b... 
Hy-ka, Caaqko AM, ApyxXutye, 
Paccy4u-ka B MIpocrore. 


— Uro cyanty! C BomHb He B3bILLelIb 
Hu B KaKOM yxxe cyZe. 


— A Tocka, coagaT, B upHaaty: 
Kak TaM AOMa, 4TO C CeMbeH? 


— Bor yx Banoanw 3aaaty — 
Konuy HeMyja—H AOMOH. 


— Tax. /jonycrum. Ho te6e-ro 
Wi saomou K 4emy npuittu? 


255 


You can only come to harm. 
I could wrap you up in sheepskins 
And you'd be forever warm. 


“Ah, you trust me! Look, you’re weeping. 
Now you feel more drawn to me.” 


“Lies! It’s from the cold I’m crying, 
And not from your sympathy.” 


“Happiness or pain — what matter? 
Savage is this frost. The snow 
Swirls across the open meadow. 
No, they'll never find you-now.... 


“Even if they come to fetch you, 
It will be too late. You'll freeze. 
You'll be sorry that they didn’t 
Leave you here to die in peace.” 


‘Death, you play a cat-and-mouse game.” 
Painfully he turned away. 

“Me, I want to go on living. 

I’m still much too young to die.” 


“Get up, then! You'll still regret it,” 
Death continued with a leer. 

“Start again from the beginning — 
Cold, fatigue, pain, dirt, and fear.... 
Friend, just give a simple verdict: 
Is all that worth struggling for?” 


“Verdict? There’s no court of justice 
Where a man can sue a war.” 


“Worse — you'll miss your home and family, 
You'll be simply worried sick.” 


“First of all, I'll get the job done: 
Beat the Hun. And then go back.” 


“Granted. But suppose you do, then? 
What’s the point in it for you? 


256 


Lloroaa 3eMAR pa3seta 
VW pasrpa6aena, yuTu. 
Bce B 3a6poce. 


— KH paboruuk, 

Al 651 AOMAa B ACAO BHHK. 
— om pa3pyuien. 

— Aw MAOTHMK... 

— I[leuxn uety. 

— VW neunnx... 

Al oT CKyKH—Ha BCE pyKH, 
byay **HB— Moe CO MHOM. 


— Ajai eme cKa3aTb cTapyxe: 
Bapyr npngeurb c oAHOK pyKon? 

Ab €lyjé KAKHM KaAe€KOH,— 
Cam ce6e u TO MOCTHIA... 


VW co Cmeptpw Yeaosnery 
Cnoputb craao cable CHA. 
Uctexaa yxe OH KpOBbh, 
Koyenea. Cnyckaaacb HOUb... 


— IIpu o4HoM Moem ycaosee, 
CmepTb, MocAyuiai... A He Mpou4b... 


VW, TOMMM TOCKOH *ecTOKON, 
Oamnok, u caab, 4 Maa, 

Ox c MoabOoi, He TO C yopeKoM 
YroBapuBaTbCA CTAA: 


— A ue xyquui uw He AyamHi, 

Uto nornmOny Ha BoiHe. 

Ho B KOHUe ee, TOCAyuan, 

Alauth TH Ha AeHb OTMYyCK MHe? 

{jallib TbI MHE B TOT Ae€Hb NOcAegHui, 
B nmpa3qHHK CAaBbI MMpOBOH, 
YcAbIXaTb CaAlOT NObeAHEIN, 

UtTo pasgactca Haq Mocxsoi? 

{jaulb ThI MHE B TOT J€Hb HEMHOKKO 
Horyaatb cpequ *xUBEIX? 


257 


All the land’s been stripped stark naked, 
Ravaged, looted, plun ered, tov. 
Just a shambles....” 


“I’m a worker. 

I'd pile in and get things done.” 
“No house left.” 

“I’d build a new one.” 

“And no stove....” 

“I'd soon make one. 
Jack-of-all-trades out of boredom, 
Game for anything —that’s me.” 


“Let a poor old woman finish: 

If you’ve lost an arm, maybe, 

Or in some such way been crippled, 
Even you will cease to care.” 


For the Man, this argument with 
Death was more than he could bear. 
Still the blood was flowing freely, 
And his limbs were growing stiff 


“Listen, Death, I might be willing, 
But there’s just one single if.” 


Tortured by the cruellest yearning, 
Lonely, helpless, weakening, 
Half beseechin , half reproaching, 
Tyorkin started bargaining: 


“Better and worse men than I am 
May have lost their lives in war, 
But, when all the fighting’s over, 
Will you grant me one day more? 
On that day of celebration, 
Festival of world renown, 

May I hear the victory salvoes 
Thunder over Moscow town? 

Will you let me join the living 

As they throng the streets outside? 


258 


Jjalllb Tht MH€ B OAHO OKOIIKO 
TloctyyaTb B KpaaX POAHBIX? 

Vs Kak BbIMAyT Ha KpbIAeuKO,— 
Cmepth, a Cmepts, enje MHE TaM 
JJalllb CKa3aTb OJHO CAOBEYKO? 
Tloacaopeuka? 

— Hert. He gam... 


Apornya Tepkun, 3aMep3aa 
Ha mocteau CHeroBow. 


— Tak nontaa THI Ipoub, Kocaa, 
A cOAAgaT eye *KUBOK. 


byday MAakaTb, BITh OT Goan, 
Tu6nytTp B moae 6e3 caeda, 
Ho Te6e no Aobpot Bove 

A He Ca4aMca HUKOr Aa. 


— I[Iorogn. Pe30u noywnie 
Al HavAy,— MO0Aalllb MHE 3HaK... 


— Cron! Hayt 3a MHow. Mnyyt. 
V3 can6ara. 

— ge, uyqax? 

— Bou, no cTexkkKe 3aHeCEHHOR... 


CmepTb XOxO4¥eT BO BECb poT: 
— V3 komaHabl NOXOpoHHon. 
— Bce paBuo: xuBOH Hapog. 


Cuer WlyplluT, MOAXO4AT ABoe. 
O6 AonaTy 3BAKHYA AOM. 


— Bot eile ocTaaca BouH. 
K HOuM BCex He yGepem. 


— ATO ycTaan 3a JeHb, 
{jocTaBaut KHCeT, 3EMAAK. 
Ha noxounuke mpucagem 
fla NOKypuM HaToIjak. 


259 


Tap a certain cottage window 

In my native countryside? 

When my folks step through the doorway, 
Death, O Death, before I go, 

May I say a word of greeting? 

Half a word?” 

“The answer's No.” 


Tyorkin shuddered as he froze there 
On his ice-encrusted bed. 


“Then be gone from me, Kosaya, 
I am still alive, not dead. 


“T shall weep, shall howl with torment, 
Die forgotten in this field, 

But of my own will and choosing, 
Know that I shall never yield.” 


“Tl find you a purer motive, 
If you'll give the sign. Fair’s fair.” 


“Wait! They’re coming for me. Searching. 
From the hospital.” 

“Fool! Where?” 

“Yonder, down that snowy footpath....” 


Death laughed long, as at a joke. 
“That’s the burial detail coming.” 
“Never mind. They’re living folk.” 


Soft snow crunching, two approaching, 
Clang of crowbar hitting spade. 


“Here’s another one. We'll never 
Get ’em done by nightfall, mate!” 


“And the day’s been heavy going. 
Mate, give us a twist of shag. 

Let’s sit down here on this dead ’un, 
And we'll have a crafty drag.” 


260 


— Ka6pl, 3Haellib, JO 3aTAKKH— 
Iljey, ropsunx KOTeAOK. 

— Ka6bi kaneapky 43 QAAKKH. 
— Ka6nl Tak — OHH FAOTOK. 

— Wan apa... 


VW tyr, xoTp caabo, 
Ilogaa Tepkuu roaoc cBon: 
— IIporouute sty Gaby, 
Al cOAdaT eye *KUBOH. 


CMOTPAT AIOAH: BOT Tak WTyKa! 
BudAT: BEpHO,— KB COAAaT. 


— Uro Ta Aymaep! 
— A ny-xa, 
TloHecem ero B caH6arT. 


— Hy mu pegxkoctHoe 4erao,— 
PaccyKAawT He Crielwa— 
OgHO AeAO— pocro Teao, 
A TyT—TeAO u Ayuta. 


— Eae-eae Ayuia B Tene... 

— IllytKu, uTo Ab, 3a386 coBcem. 
A yx Mbl TeOa XOTeAH, 
Tlonumaeulb, B HapKOM3eM... 


— He Toakyit. Saxaaaca Maanii. 
Bripy6ali WHHEAb BO AbAy. 
Tloanuman. 

A Cmeptp cka3aaa: 
— HA, ofHako, Bcaed nosy. 


SeMAAKH — OHH K pa6orte 

IIpucnoco6aeHbt K HHO. 

Bpere, MbICAMT, pacTpaceTe — 
euje on 6yderT Mon. 


ZlBa peMHA Ja ABe AOoMAaTHI, 
Ajpe 1MHeAM Monepex. 

— bepern, coagat, coagata. 
— Tlonecan. Tepnn, apyxox. 


261 


“Would be better if we ate first — 
Cabbage soup—a mess-tin full.” 
“And a snifter from a hip-flask.” 
“More than that—A good long pull.” 
“Two long pulls.” 


Albeit feebly, 
Tyorkin found his voice and said: 
“Just get rid of that old woman, 
I am still alive, not dead.” 


Both men stare. Would you believe it! 
He’s alive, as they can see. 


‘‘How about that?” 
“Get him back to 
Hospital immediately.” 


atppens one time in a thousand!” 
But they take it in their stride. 
“One thing if it’s just a body — 
This here’s got a soul inside.” 


“Only just.” 

“Say that again, chum! 

You're near frozen stiff, you know. 
We'd have sent you to the People’s 
Commissar for Down Below.” 


“That'll do. Don’t keep him waiting. 
Chop his coat free. Careful, mind! 
Lift him up.” 

And then Death muttered: 
“Still, Pll follow on behind. 


“Yokels, both of them; they’re used to 

Duties of a different kind. 

Fools!” she thought. “They'll jolt and jar him. 
In the end, he’ll still be mine.” 


Two stout belts and two long shovels, 
And two greatcoats, end to end. 
“Soldier, careful with your comrade.” 
“Off we go. Chin up, my friend!” 


262 


Hoposat, uro6 Menbile TpACKH, 
Yro6 posuee Kak-Hnby Ab, 
beperyT, HecyT C onmacKkon: 
CMepTb CTOPOHKOM AepKHT NyTb. 


A gopora—ne A4opora,— 
LleanHa, 10 MOAC CHer. 

— Orgoxuyan 6 Bbl HEMHOTO, 
XAONIBI... 

— Mnasi weaopek,— 
ToBopuT 3eMAAK TOAKOBO,— 
He Tpepoxbca, He Kaen. 
Iloromy HeceM 2KHBOTrO, 
MepTBbili BABOe TAKEAeH. 

A Apyron: 

— So M3BeCTHO. 

A euje H TO y4ecTh, 

UrTo *®uBOK ChelIMT JO MecTa,— 
MeprTBnii 4omMa—rge HM eCTb. 


— Jjeao, craao 6nITb, B IpHBEUKe,— 
SaKkAlOdaloT 3EMAAKH.— 

Uro « TH, Apyr, 6e3 pyKaBu4kH? 
Ha-Ko TellAyW, C pyKH... 


VM nogyMaaa Brepsrie | 
CmepTb, CAaeaa CO CTOpOHEI: 
«/JO 4eTO OHH, *KUBBIE, 

Mex co6ol cBaou — ApyKHBI. 
Tloromy u c o4MHOUKOH 
CaaauTb Hago6Ho CyMeTE, 
Hexors faellb OTCpoUKy>. 


Hi, B3qoxuys, orcraaa Cmeptp. 


263 


And the two men somehow manage 
Not to shake him needlessly. 

With solicitude they bear him, 
While Death tags along close by. 


And the road’s no road, but rather 
Virgin land waist-high in snow. 
“Hey, it’s time you had a breather, 
Fellers....” 

“Ah, but don’t you know, 

My dear fellow,” says one bearer, 
“There’s no need to worry, mate. 
You're a live ’un that we’ve got here. 
Dead, you would be twice the weight.” 
Then his friend: 

“That’s common knowledge. 

Live ‘uns hurry,” added he. 

“But a dead ’un, he’s alread 
Home — wherever that may be.” 


It depends on how you see it, 

They decided in the end. 

“Here, you've only got one mitten. 
Take mine while it’s warm, my friend.” 


As she watched them from the sidelines, 
Death was forced to think, at length: 
‘Why, they’re thick as thieves together, 
All the living. It’s their strength. 

I can only strike a bargain 

When they're on their own, and so, 

I suppose I must postpone it.” 


And Death, sighing, let them go. 


264 


TEPKHH ITHWMET 


..M Mory Bam coo6uynTp 

V3 cpoev maaarnl, 

Uto, Goapmion AW6uTeAD 2%KUTD, 
Bapkua A, pe6ata. 


Mi xora watep 6oxa, 
Haaemaaca AaeKHEM, 
Tosopat, 3aTo Hora 
Byer ayuture npexHen. 


4 HaMepeH A ONATS 
Bcxope 6e3 nogmoru 
Tow Horo TpaBy TOMTATB, 
Bcras na o6e Horn... 


Osa6oueu a celiac 

Aub OHO 3agauen, 

YUro6 nonactTs B poaHyo 4acTh, 
Hukyda uyaue. 


C Helo *KMA H BOeEBAA, 
Kypc HayK ycBOonA. 


TYORKIN WRITES 


Written from the hospital 

Ward in which I’m lying: 

Your life-loving friend’s come through 
With all banners flying. 


I've been here flat on my back 
Till I feel quite sore, mates; 
But they say my leg will be 
Better than before, mates. 


When I’m on my pins again, 

One thing I’ve decided — 

That’s to tread the good old grass 
Crutchless and unaided. 


There’s one problem bothering me, 
But I’m working on it— 

That’s to get a posting straight 
Back to my old unit. 


With that unit I once fought, 
Learned all I was lacking, 


266 


OTcTyMaa, MbIAb TAOTAA, 
Hactynaa, cHer aepraa 
BaaveHKaMH BOHH. 


VM noxyAa 4To ona 

Ziad MeHA— COAAaTa— 
Bce wa cBetTe, BCe CNOAHAa: 
VW poguaa cropona, 
VYscemba, HW xaTa. 


V1 oxota Mune cKopei 

K Heli B pAAB BKAMHUMTBCA 

VU, AowAapmnce soOpnrx Ane, 
IIo CmMoaeniynHe cBoei 
Tonatp Ao rpaHuypl. 


Brpouem, ake CyTb HE B TOM, 
A ckaxky TOWHEE: 

Aoseanch ApyruM myTem 

Jlo KOHIla HATH,— To sem, 
Tae yrogxo, c Hew! 


Ecaw %K IIyAA B TpeTHH pa3 
KAWHET HaCMEPTh, 3AaK, 

To 10 KpaHHOCTH Cpedb Bac, 
Bpatupbl, c80H NOCAeAHMH 4ac 
BcTpeTHTb A KeAalo. 


TOAbBKO C 9THM MBI CHEUIMTS 
be3 HyKAbl He CTraHeM. 

A Goabwioh AjOGUTeAD KUT, 
Kak cKa3aA 3apaHe. 


VU, noOckOAbky & crelty 
IloscrpeyaTaca Cc BaMu, 
Tenepaay Harnury 
Temu Ke CAOBaMH. 


Tloaaraw, renepaa 
Kak-HHKak yBaxKuT,— 
On MHe OpdeH BbIdAaBaa, 
B mpocp6e He oTKaxeT. 


267 


Swallowed dust in the retreat, 
Ploughed the snow up with my feet 
When we were attacking. 


For a single chap like me, 

fust a common soldier, 

t’s my all— my home country, 
It’s my friends and family, 

It’s my hearth and shelter. 


Let me squeeze back into line 
In full marching order. 

There will be a better time, 

I'll cross that Smolensk of mine 
Till we reach the border. 


But there’s more I'd like to say, © 
Since there’s no real knowing: 

If, to make that final day, 

We must march some other way — 
Count me in—I’m going! 


And if bullet number three 

Picks me out for death, mates, 
Then with you boys let it be 
That old Tyorkin finally 
Breathes his dying breath, mates. 


No need to anticipate 

All that prematurely. 

I’m a lover of this life, 
As I’ve mentioned surely. 


But to join you soon, that’s worth 
Much anticipation. 

I shall send the General my 
Written application. 


Yes, I think he’ll be inclined 
Somehow to respect it. 
Decorated me himself — 
Don’t think he'll reject it. 


268 


3a T1MCbMOM, HaJewchb, BCACY 
byay cam o6partuo... 

y M NOBapy MpuBer 
OT MeHA ABYKpaTHBIi. 


Ilyctb u Bupedb FoTOBHT Tak, 
3anpaBAAA *KUpPHO, 

YToO B KOTAe CTOAA Yepnak 
Ilo KoMaHde «CMHpHO>... 


VogHMM CAOBa CBON 
3aKAIOUHTh XOUy A: 
Utro peaukne 60n, 
Kak moroay, 4ylo. 


Tax 6p1BaeT y KOHA 
UyscrBo 6an3KoH cBaAbOE... 
Zio Toro 60Abm0ro AHA 
Mue 6e3 maaoK BCTaTb 6n!! 


Cnaio cKopeii 4a Ay BecTeit. 
Bce cka3aA 40 KOpKH... 
O6uuMaw Bac, YeprTeit. 
Bau 

Bacuaut Tepxun. 


269 


I’ll be on that letter’s heels — 
Leastways, so I’m hoping. 
Greetings to the cook from me 
With a second helping. 


Let him make the broth so rich 
When he’s in the kitchen 

That the ladle stands up straight 
At the word “Attention!” 


One more thing I'd like to say 
es by way of ending: 
’ve a sort of hunch that great 
Battles are impending. 


Horses sense it when the gay 
Wedding time approaches... 
Y'll be up for that great day 

Without sticks or crutches! 


Got to snatch a wink or two. 
Time to put the cork in. 
Send some news, you rascals you, 
Love, 

Vassili Tyorkin. 


270 


TEPKHH — TEPKHH 


Uba-TO WeukKa, 4bA-TO XaTa, 
Ha Apopa pacniHAeH XAEB... 
Kro Ha3a6ca— AeAO CBATO, 
Tomy Hago o6orpes. 


{jeao CBATO— 4UbA TaM xaTa, 

KrTo ux HBIHYe pa3sbepe;rT. 

Tpeiica, paayiica, pebsra, 
OPHBIH, CMeWIaHHHH Hapod. 


Ha noay Te6e coaoma, 
3aApeMaaoch, Tak AOIKHC. 
He y Tew, A He Joma, 
He B palo, OAHakKO, *KH3HB. 


Tor cHAuT, pa3yBUIH HOTy, 
II pHnoguaB, rAKAKT Ha CBET. 
Bcwo olyniBaeT CTporo,— 
Y3HaeT — ero HAb HET. 


Tot, WMHeAb CMaxHyB 6€3 cTpaxy, 
BsicoKo 3aApas py6baxy, 
IIpamo B meaky xO¥eT BAE3Tb. 


— He ogun TH, OpaTey, 34ecb. 
— OTCAOHHTECH, XAOTIUEI. TemMeHb... 


TYORKIN v. TYORKIN 


Someone’s stove and someone’s cottage, 
Firewood from a sawn-up byre.... 
Frozen? Then you are entitled 

To a place beside the fire. 


Yes, entitled. In whose cottage? 

There’s no telling any more. 

Warm yourselves, cheer up, you soldiers 
Thrown together by the war. 


Straw strewn on the floor in plenty; 
Lay you down and doze right off. 
It’s not mum-in-law’s or heaven, 
But it’s life; that’s fair enough. 


One sits with a single boot on, 
Bare foot held up to the light. 
Feels it carefully all over, 
Checking that it’s his alright. 


One, his coat flung down beside him, 
And his tunic rucked up high, 
Wants to crawl into the stove. 


“I call that a selfish cove.” 
“Here, move over, can’t see clearly...” 


272 


— Uro TH, mpapja, Kak TOT HEMEL... 
— Hbtnye Hemel CaM He TOT. 


— Hy, 6part, on ene gaer, 

OtnyckaeT, He CKYMMTCA... 

— Bce xe c npexHHM He CpaBHHTCA,— 
CuHaA calor c Og”HOH HOrH. 

— leao acHoe,— 6eru! 


— Oxo-xo. Boiina, pe6aTxu. 

— AT Ayman! Bor 4yaax. 

— Ayame HeT— 4aliky B AocTaTKe, 
XM€Ab— OH rpeeT, Ja He Tak. 


— STO 4bA KE yCTaHOBKa 

Tperbca aaem? Bor u Bpenis. 

— Di, He CTaBb K OFH1O BHHTOBKY... 
— A eme kyaem xopomu... 


ONpoOKHHYyTHM HCTOMOH, 
Tepku ApeMAeT Ha CIMHe, 
Ort 6eceab B CTOpOHe. 

Tak AM, CAK AM, TepKuH 4oma, 
To ecTb—cHoOBa Ha BOHHE... 


OTO paHeHBIM H3BECTHO: 
Bopotucb TH B NOAK poAHol — 
Bce He TO: HHOe MeCTO 

VW swapog yxe uHon. 


IIpu6ayTKu, noropopKu 

He TaKwe AOBHT CAyxX... 

— Tae-to nam Bacuanit Tepkun? — 
OTO CABIUMT TepKHH BApyr. 


IIpuscraet, tiypuia coAomoit, 
UtTo Tam AaAbille — NOAcTepe4p. 
Hykomy OH He 3HaKOMBIii — 
Vo nem kak 6y4aTo peup. 


Ho CKBO3b UIyM MW [aM BeceAbIit, 
UTo KuMea BOKpyr OrHA, 


273 


“You're as bad as Jerry, nearly...” 
“He's not what he used to be.” 


“He’s all there, believe you me. 
He’s still giving us what for.” 
“Not the same Fritz any more — 
One boot off and one boot on.” 
“Yes, exactly! On the run!” 


“Yes, it’s war, that’s what it is, mates.” 
“Hark at genius there! That’s news!” 
“Pints and pints of tea’ll warm you 
Darn sight etter than your booze.” 


“Here, who’s laying down the law, then? 
Tea to warm your belly? Trash!” 

“Shift that rifle from the stove, chum.” 
“There’s another thing — goulash.” 


Enervated and exhausted, 
Tyorkin dozes on the floor, 
Quite oblivious to the talking. 
Now he’s home again, is Tyorkin, 
Meaning that he’s back at war.... 


Wounded soldiers know the feeling: 
Go back to your regiment — 
Nothing’s quite the same. The people 
And the place are different. 


Regimental jokes and wisecracks 
Are all unfamiliar here.... 

“Hey, where’s our Vassili Tyorkin?” 
Catches Tyorkin’s startled ear. 


Up he sits, straw mattress rustling — 
Just play possum and don’t move. 
No one in here even knows him, 
Yet it’s him they’re speaking of. 


Then, above the noise and hubbub 
And the fireside gaiety, 


274 


Bot OH CABILIHT HOBbIM FOAOC: 
— STO KTO TaM IIpO MeHs?.. 


— IIpo te6a?— 

Be3 oropopkn 

Tor oOusAtb: 

— Camo co6oi. 

— [loyemy? 

— Tax a xe Tepxun. 


OTO CABIMIMT TepkHH MOH. 


UTO-TO CTpaHHoe TBOpHTCA, 
Henowatuoe yoy. 
IlopepHyancb ToTyac Ana 
Moaua k Tepxuny. K Tomy. 


Atoau Bpoge opobean: 
— TepkuH— an4uHo? 
— Aw eCTDb. 

— B camom geae? 

— Bcamom geae. 


— Xaonypl, xaonys, Tepkun 34ecp! 


— He csepnerte au MaxOpKH?— 
KTO-TO BbITalJHA KHCeT. 
Mi we Moi, a ToT yx Tepknn 


Popo paT: 
— Maxopxn? Her. 


TepknH MoH —k orHio nobanxKe, 
Otru6aeT BOpOTHHK. 

Toraaqut, a OH-TO pBpkHii — 
TepkMH TOT, ero ABOMHHK. 


Ecau 6 nonpocty MaxopKu 
TepkHH BBIKYpHA BTOpOH, 

Vi ue scrpaa Oni, Moxet, Tepkuu, 
IIpomoAgaa 651 MOH repo. 


Ho, MOcKOAbKy BOAHT HOCOM, 
SagaeTcA 4eAOBEK, 


275 


Tyorkin heard a new voice saying: 
“Someone here just mention me?” 


“You indeed?” 

The other answered 
Unabashed: 

“Why yes, of course!” 
“How’s that so?” 
“Because I'm Tyorkin,” 


Said the other soldier’s voice. 


Something fishy going on here; 
Very strange, all said and done. 
Silent, all looked round at Tyorkin, 
That is, at the other one. 


And the men seemed almost timid. 
“Tyorkin? Honest?” 

“Yes, I swear.” 

“Him in person?” 

“Him in person.” 

“Fellers, tellers, Tyorkin’s here!” 


Somebody produced makhorka. 
“Here, try some of this,” said he. 
Then not mine, but tother Tyorkin 
Said: 

**Makhorka? Not for me.” 


Turning back his greatcoat collar, 
Tyorkin moved up to the fire, 
Gazed intently at his double, 

Saw this Tyorkin had red hair. 


If the other had accepted, 
And if he had not demurred, 
Then the chances are my hero 
Would have hardly interfered. 


But, since Number Two was swanking, 
Trying to throw his weight about, 


276 


TepkKui MOH K HeMy C BOIIpocoM: 
— Ay Bac He6ocb «Ka36eK»? 


ToT MOM€JAHA 4yTb C OTBETOM: 
Moa, He NOHAA HM4eTO. 
— UrTo x, Tpodenvon curapeTon 
Yrowy.— 

Bo3bMhH ero! 


Bugut mow Bacuani Tepxun— 
He c Toro 3amea KOHya. 

V1 ne To uTOO 4yBCTBOM rOpbKAM 
YKOAOAO MOAOALa,— 


He aw6na aogei cnecuBuix, 

H, o6uay 3ataa, 

Ou CKa3aA, B34OXHYB ACHHBO: 
— Bce xe TepkuH—sto 4... 


Cmex, BOAHeHbEe. 

— Hoss Tepxuu! 

— XAONUB, ABOe... 

— Bor 6eaa... 

— Kak AotigeT ux AO naTepKn, 
Pas6yaute Hac Tora. 


— Her, Opat, mtyTuwp,— oTBeyaeT 
TepkuH TOT, nogxKaB ry6y,— 
Tepkui— &. 


— ja KTO ux 3HaeT,— 
He Hanncano Ha Aby. 


VW3 KapMaHa TMMHacTepKu 
PbiK HK — KHYKKY: 
— UtTo %* A BaM... 


— Touno: Tepxuu... 
— Toabko Tepxkun 
He Bacnani, a Usan. 


Ho, ye c HaCMeLIKOH Tanga, 
ToT OTBeETHA MOeMy: 


277 


Tyorkin faced him with the question: 
“You swear by Kazbeks, no doubt?” 


Then the other hesitated: 
What was Tyorkin’s little game? 
“Here, I'll treat you to a captured 
German cigarette.” 

“Get him!” 


Whereupon my Vasya Tyorkin 
Saw that something had gone, wrong, 
Not that he was feeling bitter, 
Not that he was feeling stung. 


Show-offs irked him, but he bottled 
Up his feelings just the same, 
And he murmured, sighing gently: 
“Tyorkin, comrade, is my name.” 


Uproar. Mirth. 

«Knother Tyorkin!” 

“Two of them!” 

“Well, sakes alive!” 

“Here, do us a favour: wake us 
When the number’s up to five!” 


“No, you must be joking, brother,” 
Looking needled, said the other. 
“That’s my name.” 


“Can’t tell ’em nohow. 
They’re not branded on the brow!” 


Carrots pulled his Army paybook 
From his pocket. 
“Read it, man!” 


“Yes, he’s Tyorkin....”- 
“But this Tyorkin’s 
Not Vassili, he’s Ivan.” 


Then, a sneer in his expression, 
T’other Tyorkin said to mine: 


278 


— Ths nofimn, 4TO pudmsrl paau 
MoxkHO CgeAaTb XOTb Domy. 


OTOT BBIAOXHYA 3aTAKKy* 
— Ja, no Tepxuy-To—repou. 


ToT uIMHeAKy Hapacnaiky: 

— Bor sam open, BOT Apyrou, 
Bot pam Tepxnu-6pone6onmnK, 
Bepbte cAOBy, H€ MOABE. 

VM mamuy nog6ua a Goapmie — 
He ony, a WeAbIx ABe... 


Tepxun 6yATo 61 pactepan, 
T'pycTrHo WypHTca B OFOHb. 

— A On Mor Te6x npoBepnts, 
byab 6p 34eCb y HaC TapMOHb. 


Bce Kpyrom: 

— TapMonp naiigetca, 
EcTb y cTrapuiero. 

— He Tpoup. 

— UrTo ne Tponp? 

— Cmorpn, mpocuetca... 
— Ilycrb npocnetca. 

— Ecrtb rapmonp! 


TOAbKO B3AA Goel TpexpAdKy, 
Cpa3y BHAHO: rapMOHKCT. 
ie Hayaay, JAA NOpAAKy 
Kunya MaAbibl CBEpXxy BHH3. 


M1 kK MexaM puma weKxow, 
Crpor u BaxKeH, XOTb HE 6put, 
MM mpo Beyep Had pekow 
3aBepHyA, 3aBeA HaB3pHld... 


TepkuHH MOH MaXxHYA pyKow: 

— Aaguo. Moxeuib,— rOBOpuT,— 
Ho ono Te6s, 6pat, ry6ur: 
Papkectb Tepkuuy HeiiJer. 


— Psrxux gepKu Ooapue alo6aT,— 
Orseyaet Tepxun ToT. 


279 


“Say Foma then, if you want to; 
Either way, you’ve got your rhyme.” 


Mine exhaled a lazy lungful: 
“Tyorkin’s won a gong or two.” 


Then the other, coat flung open: 
“There! That good enough for you? 
Two of them. Tankbuster Tyorkin! 
You can take it straight from me, 
Not just one, but two tanks, comrade, 
And I bagged them personally.” 


Tyorkin seemed a shade distracted, 
Glumly gazed into the fire. 

‘‘I could put you to the test, mate, 
If there was a squeege-box here.” 


Someone said: 

“The Sergeant-Major’s 

Got a squeege-box.” 

“Not that one!” 

“Why not?” 

“It'll wake him.” 

“Let it!” 

“Here! No sooner said than done!” 


When the soldier took the squeege-box, 
It was plain he knew his stuff. 

Up and down he ran his fingers 

Just to start the music off. 


Cheek pressed close against the bellows, 
Stubble-chinned, but grave of mien, 

He struck up a haunting ditty 

Of an evening river scene.... 


Tyorkin gestured his approval. 

“You can play alright, that’s clear. 

But there’s one thing you’ve slipped up on: 
That’s the colour of your hair.’ 


“But the girls go for the red-heads,” 
T’other Tyorkin intervened. 


280 


Tepkni CaM yxKe XOXOUET, 
Cepauem WeApbiM HageaeH. 
Vs we Tak yxe XAOMOUET 

3a ceOa,— TO Tepknu OH. 


UytTb o6u4Ho, Ja MpHvATHO, 
UTo TaKoH Ke pAAOM C HMM. 
HenouaTHo, Ja 3aHATHO 
Bcem peOatTaM OCTaAbHBIM. 


Moasut Tepxuu: 

— Caeaai MHAOCTb, 

by ab Th TepkHH HacosceM. 
nyckaW OAHOPaMHAeLh 

byay 4... 


A TOT: 

— 3ayem?.. 

— KrTo xe Tepxun? 

— Hy u auxo!l..— 

XOXxoOT, WlyM, Hepa36epuxa... 


BcTaa KakoH-To crapuimHa 
Aja Kak KpuKHeT: 
— Tuuuua! 


4To BbI TYT He pa36epere, 
He noitimete mex co60H? 

Ilo ycrasy Kax oii pote 
byaet npugan Tepxuu coi. 


CablltHO BCeM? Tlopagok acew? 
*Kaao6 wety? Hu ognoi? 
Pasonanucp! 


Visa coraacen 
C sTuM CTporuM CTapluMHon. 
A 6p, Moxer 6nITb, A B3IBOAZaM 
IIpugaa Tepkuna B apyspa... 


Bnpouem, Bce TyT MHMOXxO40M 
K pasropopy BCcTaBMA a. 


281 


Then my Tyorkin burst out laughing, 
Being of a generous mind, 

And to prove that he was Tyorkin 
Seeming rather less inclined. 


Partly rattled, partly tickled 

That he had a Number Two, 

And the others, though bewildered, 
Found the whole thing funny too. 


Tyorkin said: 

“Do us a favour. 

You be Tyorkin, friend, while I 
Simply stand down as your namesake.” 


Said the other Tyorkin: 
“Why?” 


“Which is Tyorkin?” 
“What a mess-up!” 
Uproar. Mirth. Nearly a riot. 


Then the Sergeant-Major stood up 
In their midst and bellowed: 
“Quiet! 


“What's the meaning of this muddle? 
What’s the point of all this row? 
Orders: every company shall 

Have a Tyorkin as from now. 


“Understood? Got the procedure? 
No complaints from all you men? 
Right. Dismiss!” 


I'm in agreement 
With that very strict S.-M. 
I'd give each platoon a Tyorkin, 
If I only had the say. 


This whole episode is merely 
Pure digression, by the way. 


282 


OT ABTOPA 


Ilo KoTOpow peqke MABITb,— 
Tot 4 CAaByIKy TBOPHTB... 


C nepBaix Ave TrOAHHbI rOppKon, 
B TAKKHH 4aC 3EMAM POAHOH, 

He mrytra, Bacuanht Tepxun, 
Tloapy2kHAHcb MBI C TObOH. 


Ho eye He 3HaA A, Ipaso, 

UTo c neaaTHoro cToa6ya 
Bcem MpHAeuibca TH MO HpaBy, 
A HHBIM BOHAenIb B Cepaua. 


Zio BOHHE e4Ba B NOMHHE 

Buia TH, Tepkuu, Ha Pycu. 
TepkuH? Kto taxo#? A HbIHe 
TepkHH — KTO TaKOH? — CNpocH. 


— Tepxuu, Kak xe! 
— 3Haem. 
— Aopor. 


— [Japeub cBou, kak roBopat. 


FROM THE AUTHOR 


If the stream bears you along, 
Celebrate that stream in song.... 


From the first days of affliction 
In the homeland’s hour of grief, 
You and I, Vassili Tyorkin, 
Bosom friends became for life. 


But I never had a notion 

Just how famous you'd become, 
Or how everyone would like you 
And you’d win the hearts of some. 


Till the war burst on us, Tyorkin, 

You were hardly used to fame. 

Tyorkin? Who? But now say “Tyorkin”— 
Everybody knows the name. 


“Ah, yes Tyorkin!” 
“Him } 

“Great fellow!” 

“And one of the boys, what’s more!” 


284 


— Caosom, Tepxun, ToT, KoTopsii 
Ha BokuHe AMXOH COAZAT, 

Ha ryAfHKe FOcTb He AMUWIHHH, 

Ha pa6bote— xoTp kya... 


)Kaab, AaBHO eTO HE CABIIIHO, 
MoxeT, 4TO xyfoe BBIIIAO? 
Moxert, c Tepkunnm Gea? 


— He morao Toro CAy4nTKca. 
— He noxoxe. 

— Bpaxn. 

— Bs,op... 


— Kak me, eCAM OFeBn AIA 
TloqBo3vA OHH WOgep. 


B Tom 6010 AexKaAH pAJOM, 
Tepkuu 6yaTo 6m MpHBcTaa, 
B TOT *e MHI ero CHapsgoM 
Bpone6orinbm — Hanosaa, 


— Hert, cuapag yaapHa Mumo. 
A CAbIXaAH Tak, 4TO MHHa... 


— Ilyas-aypa... 
— Ay nHac 
Tosopnan, 4To yrac. 


— Ilyas, 60mM6a wan Muna— 
Bce paBHo, He B TOM BOTIpoc. 
A cCaoBa Tepe KOHYMHO 
On Kakne MponsHec? 


— Tosopna nacuer nobegs. 
Moa, snepeg. IIpumepuo Tak... 


— Kaab,—cka3aa,— 4To Ao o6e,a 
A yOurbii, HaTousak. 

Hewuspectuo, MOA, pe6arta, 
OtnpaBAAACh Ha TOT CBeT, 

Kak Tam, 4To: 6e3 aTTecTatTa 
IIpu3naiot Hac HAH HeT? 


285 


“In a word, Vassili Tyorkin 
Means a soldier brave in war, 
Welcome guest at any party, 
And at work, right on the Pall... 


“Haven't heard much of him lately. 
Something wrong? Things turn out badly? 
Did his luck change after all?” 


“No, it simply couldn’t happen.” 
ust not like him.” 

“Rubbish.” 

“Lies...” 


“But sup ose one of our drivers 
Gave a bloke a lift who says, 


“They were under fire together; 

Tyorkin half got up, and fell, 

Knocked out right where he was standing 
By an armour-piercing shell.” 


‘No, the shell just overshot him. 
It’s a mortar bomb that got him.” 


“No, a bullet.” 
“Ah, but we 
Heard that it was just H.E.” 


“Mortar bomb, H.E. or bullet — 
Doesn't matter anyway. 

But before he kicked the bucket, 
What last words did Tyorkin say?” 


“Spoke of victory. Cried: ‘Charge, men!’ 
Or that’s what they say he said...” 


“And: ‘A pity. Time for dinner, 
And I’m just as good as dead! 

It’s another world I’m bound for, 
Don’t know what it’s like, or where. 
If we haven’t got our papers, 

Will they recognise us there?” 


286 


— Hert, uHoe nmouemy-To 
Caniuiaa paHeHbii 6oen. 
Moasua Tepku B Ty MHHyTy: 
«MuHe —- koHeLL, BOMHE — KOHEL». 


Ecau Tak, Torda He BepbtTe, 
Pa3Be 9TO HEBAOMEK: 

He noasepxen Tepkun cmMeptn, 
Koab BOHHE HE BBIIIEeA CpOK... 


IllyrKu, CAyXH B 9TOM Ayxe 
ABTOPp CABILIHT HE BIeEpBOH. 
IIpapaa npaByzon ocraetca, 
A MOABa ce6e — MOABOH. 


Hert, Topapuuyy, repon, 
CTOABKO AAMKYy MIpoOTalyHs, 
BuixO4HTb Tenepb H3 CTpoA? — 
H3suunnte! — Tepxun «us! 


Kus-340pos. boapet, uem npexze. 
Ilomupatn? Haobdopor, 

AB TaKOH Tenepb Hasex Je: 

OH MeHA TepexKuBeT. 


Bce xyfoe OH H3Be,aA, 
OH TepsA pOdMMbI Kpalt 
VY oany noant6ecegy 
Tlostopsaa: 

— He yuursaii! 


C nepspix Aue roguHbl TopbKo 
Mup CabixaA CKBO3b rpO3HBI rTpom,— 
Tloptopaa Bacnanit €PKHH: 

— Ileperepnum. Ieperpem... 


Hunovyem TpydAbl 4 MyKH, 
Topeub 6eacTBHH H ToTeps. 
A KOMy K€ KHHIH B PpyKH, 
Kax He Tepxnny Tenepp?! 


Paccyau-Ka, Apyr-ToBapul, 
TlocmoTpu-ka, rge ThI BHOBb 


287 


“No, one of our wounded heard him, 
And he’s quite prepared to swear 
ayorkin said as he lay dying: 

‘If I’m finished, so’s the war.” 


“Don’t believe a word of it, then. 
Stands to reason. You can bet 
Tyorkin’s anything but done for 
If the war’s not over yet.” 


Rumours, anecdotes ... I’ve heard them 
Time and time again before. 

But the facts are still the facts, and 
Rumour’s rumour, nothing more. 


No, my friends. D’you think my hero, 
After going through such hell, 
Would give up the ghost? Not likely! 
Tyorkin is alive and? well. 


He’s as full of beans as ever. 
Tyorkin cash his chips? Not he. 
And, in fact, 'm rather hoping 
That he’ll come to outlive me. 


For, despite his loss of homeland 
And the horrors that he’s known, 
His political advice has 

Been: 

“Don’t let them get you down!” 


From the first days of affliction, 

As the thunder filled the sky, 

All the world heard Tyorkin saying: 
“We'll scrape through. Yes, we'll get by.” 


Notwithstanding trials and troubles 
And much grief throughout the land, 
Who now, if not Vasya Tyorkin, 
Holds the final, winning hand? 


Just consider, friend and comrade, 
As you make the journey back, 


288 


Ha mpuBadax Kally Bapuulh, 
B AepeBHAX Ipbi3zelllb MOPKOBb. 


CxHopa BOAy MpHBeaoca 
H3 Kako aepmaTb pexu! 
I'ae cryuaT TBOM KOAECA, 
Tye crynatoT canoru! 


OTAKHMCb, KaK BCTaA C paccBeTa 
Wan HOoub HE CrIaA, COAAAT, 

Bpra WAb He OBIA 34€Cb ABa AeTa, 
{\pe 3MMbI TOMy Ha3aJ. 


Bca oHa— oT [loaMOCKOBbA 
Vor BoaxkKckoro BepxOBbA 
Ao AHenpa u 3aqnenposba— 
Baaab Ha 3alladq CTOpoHa,— 
Ilpexje oTgaHHaa C KpOBbh, 
KpoBbi0 BHOBb BO3Bpalljena. 


BHOBb OTHBIHE 9TO CBATO: 
Tae HM CBeT, TO Hallla xaTa, 
Tae Hu AbIM, TO Halll KOCTep, 
Tae HM CTyK, TO Hal TONOp, 
UtTo HH rpy3 HAeT kyJa-TO,— 
Hau MapuipyT mu Hat MoTop! 


VM Taxylo-TO MaxuHy, 

Tae rouuv, roHv MallHHy,— 
EcTb rae exaTb BAaAb HM BUIMps, 
OH nellKOM, He BHOAOBHHY, 
Beco mpomepua, SoraTarpp. 


BoraTbipb He TOT, YTO B CKka3Ke — 
Be33a60THBIM BeAMKaH, 

A B TIOXOAHOM 3alloncxke, 
Yeaobek NpoctoH 3aKBacKn, 

Uro sp 60 He 4yKA ONACKH, 
Koab He bAH. A OH HE TIbAH. 


Ho noxyJa B340x B 3amace, 
TOAKy He€T 0 CMEPTHOM 4ace. 


289 


In what village you munch carrot, 
In what place you bivouac. 


From what river you fetch water 

As you fetched it once before; 

Where again your boots go tramping, 
Where your wheels resound once more. 


Look around at daybreak, soldier, 
Whether you have slept or not. 
After two long years of absence 
Do you recognise the spot? 


All the way from Moscow region, 
From the Volga’s upper reaches 
To the Dnieper and eyond 

Far into the West —that land, 
Once so tragically lost, 

We've won back at bloody cost. 


See once more these things we cherish: 
Where a light burns, it’s our cottage; 
Where there’s smoke, our campfire blazes; 
Where wood’s cut, our axe-blade flashes; 
Where a lorry hauls its load, 

It’s our engine and our road. 


Distances that, for a lorry, 

Mean a long and gruelling ride 
Over country far and wide — 

Our foot-slogging, doughty warrior 
Takes undaunted in his stride. 


Not the blithe and gay colossus . 
Of the folk-tale fantasies, 

But a simple, unpretentious 
Soldier, strapped in battle harness, 
And in action far from fearless 
When he’s sober — which he is. 


And, as long as he draws breath, 
He can have no thought of death. 


290 


B Mykax TBepd u B rope TOpA, 
TepkuHH %KuB H BeCeA, 4epT! 


TipasquHux 6aM30k, MaTb-Poccns, 
OOepuu Ha 3aMag B3rAA: 
Ajaaexo yuea Bacnanis, 

Baca Tepkuu, TBOM coAgart. 


To ceppe3Hbii, TO NOTeMHHH, 
HunoyeM, 4ToO AOxK Ab, ITO CHer,— 

B 60H, Bueped, B OTOHb KPOMeCLIKBIM 
Ou HAeT, CBATOH U TpeliHbii, 
PyccKHH 4yA0-yeAoBeK. 


Pa3HOCHCh, MOABA, 110 CBeTY: 
OObaBHACA Crapbiit ApyT... 
— Hy-xa, k CBETY. 

— Hy-ka, Bcayx. 


291 


Staunch in trouble, proud in grief, 
Tyorkin’s full of hope and life! 


Soon you'll triumph, Mother Russia; 
Turn your gaze towards the West. 
He’s gone far, your son Vassili, 
Soldier of the very best. 


Sometimes merry, sometimes serious, 
Never heeding rains or snows, 
Human, yet in deed prodigious, 
With his faults and with his virtues, 
Into withering fire he goes. 


Yes, he’s back. The wide world over, 
Let the joyful news be heard. 

“Step up, Tyorkin!” 

“Say a word!” 


292 


AEA MW BABA 


Tpetne aeto. TpetTbs ocenb. 
TpeTba 03HMb AeT BECHEI. 
O cBOMX HeT-HeT MH CIpocuM 
Vian BCNOMHEM Cpedb BOHHEI. 


BcnOMHMM C HaMM OTCTYaBUIMX, 
Boesaswux rod HAb 4aCc, 

Ilanumx, 6e3 BecTH NponaBMnx, 

C KeM BHAaAHCb MbI XOTb pa3, 
IlpopoxaBuiMx, BHOBb BCTpeyaBUIHx, 
Ham NonutTb Bogb NoAaBNX, 
[IloMOAMBIUHXCA 3a Hac. 


BcnOMHHM BbIOry-3aBHpyxy 
IIpupponToBon NOAOcHl, 

XaTy C AesOM M CTapyxoH, 
Tae Hall Apyl 4HHHA 4acKr. 


Vim 6n1 He 6bIAO H3HOCY 
Bupegp Jo SyayujeH BOHHHI, 
Ho, kak Bogutca, 6e3 cipocy 
CHAA MX HEMEL, CO CTEHBI: 


THE OLD COUPLE 


Third year’s summer, third year’s winter, 
Seeds await the spring once more. 

Often we remember absent 

Comrades in the midst of war. 


Some of them retreated with us, 
Fought with us a year, an hour; 
Some fell, some were posted missing, 
Whom we'd met but once before; 
Some took leave of us and later 
Reappeared; some gave us water; 


Some gave us their heartfelt blessing... 
We recall the swirling snowstorms 

Up there in the front-line zone, 

And the clock that Tyorkin mended 
For the two old folks at home. 


It would have survived the next war 
Needing no repair at all, 

But the Germans, uninvited, 

Took it down from off the wall, 


294 


To AW BellbiO AparoweHHon 

Te KypaHTbi NOCuHTAaA, 

TO Ab pellMA C HYKAbI BOCHHOM,— 
Kak-HWKak UBeCTHOM MeTaAA. 


Ilaa 34Ma, BeCHa M AECTO. 
Hemel, *XHTb BEACA KMBBIM. 
Ilha BowHa AaAeKO rge-TO 
Yepeacm rayxuM CBOMM. 


VB TBOew poauMon peyKe 
MBIACA HEMEL THIAOBOH. 
Ha TBoem cudea KpblAeuKe 
C HenmoKpbITOH roAoBou. 


VW xpyrom ero nopsakn, 

VM HemMeukui, 1pHBo3sHOn 

Ha CMOACHCKOH y3KOH rpAdAKe 
SeaeHeA CaAaT BeECHOH. 


VM xoqua cToponKon, 60KOM 
Th 10 yAouke CBoeH,— 
Y6eperca HeHapoKoM, 

KUT 2KUBUM, AbIIWWATb He CMeH. 


Tak uw «MAH Jeg Aa 6a6a 
be3 4acoB CBOMX 4aBHO, 
VU yxe cBeTHaocn caa6bo 
Ha nycrou# creHe mATHO... 


Ho co crpactbio Heu3MeHHOH 
flea CyAWA, PAAMA, Tagan 

O kaMilaHHH BOeHHO:H, 

Kak B OTCTaBKe reHepaa. 

Ha gopoane Bo3ae XaTbI 
KoctTblaemM CTapukK 4epTHA 
Oxkpy2KeHbA H OXBaTHI, 

Maru, KAMHDA, pe Ab B TBIA... 


— UTo x, 3a 4eM TaM OCTaHOBKa? — 
Crpocat awgu.— Cpok ue Maa... 


295 


Maybe thinking it of value 
With its antiquated chimes, 
Or because they needed metal 
In those metal-hungry times. 


Winter passed, then spring, then summer, 
Life, death in captivity.... 

With a muffled fumbling somewhere 
War continued on its way. 


In your native stream, the rearward 
German soldier washed his face, 
Rested on your porch, bareheaded, 
Just as if he owned the place. 


Round him, the New Order sprouted. 
On the little patch nearby 

Vegetables grew, transported 

All the way from Germany. 


Slinking down your village footpath, 
You’ve just managed to survive, 
Scared of talking, scared of breathing, 
Lucky that you’re still alive. 


Our old couple had been living 
That way for two years and more, 
And the bare patch on the pinewood 
Gleamed less brightly than before... 


But with passion Grandad argued, 
Judged, and guessed, time and again, 
ike a general in retirement, 
On the course of the campaign. 
Close beside his little cottage 
Grandpa often used to stand, 
Drawing pincers, arrows, wedges 
With his stick upon the ground. 


“Well, what are they waiting for, Dad?” 
Folk would ask. “Time’s passing by.” 


296 


Alea-coAgaT MOpraA HEAOBKO, 
Katana: 

— [leperpynnnposxa...— 

VW TaHHCTBeHHO B3AbIxXaA. 


Y awe ye yKpagKon 
Harorose 6n1A ynpek, 
Caosyo go6pyio Aoragky 
Alea mo cxynoctu Geper. 


CaoBHOo AyMaA NOAopoxe 
3anpocuTs C AyUIM *KMBOH. 

— flea, xorga *e? 

— lea, Hy 4TO xe? 

— Tae « on, Jeg, byAeHHHM TBO? 


VM eqpa BOMHBI NOryAKH 
GaBOAHA BAaAM BOCTOK, 
Alea, He M€AAA HH MHHYTKH, 
O6bABHA, UTO IpAHYA CpOK. 


OTaAW4aA TOTYAC 10 CAYXy 
Tpoxor nammux Garapen. 
beraa, Tomaa: 

— Ajai um ayxy! 

Ajai euje! Aobasy! IIporpen! 


Ho cruxaaa KaHOHa/a, 
Notyxaa 3apHuy noxap. 

— Alea, Hy 4TO xe? 

— AlyMartp Hago, 

3aech He rAaBHBIM OBIA yzap. 


VU yxe Ka3aa0cb Aeqy,— 
Cam xXoTeaA TOrO MAb HET,— 
Ilepeg pcemu 3a nobeay 
AM4HO OH JepxKar OTBET. 


H, Tax cBow Kpy4nny, 
ZJAM BCero Ha CBETE OH 
U yragpipaa npnynny, 
Vi npvayMbipaa pe3ou. 


297 


He’d look worried, hesitating, 
Clear his throat and say: 
“Regrouping....” 

And then heave a knowing sigh. 


But a nagging thought was growin 
At the bawors of their minds 8 
That old Dad was being stingy 

In his reading of the signs. 


As if cheerful news might cost him 
Much more than he’d care to say. 
“Yes, but when, Dad?” 

“What d’you mean, Dad?” 
“Where's Budyonny, by the way?” 


If towards the East they heard the 
Distant music of the guns, 
Without any hesitation 

He’d declare: “Ah, here it comes!” 


He could tell our heavy batteries 

Just by listening to the sound, 

And he’d dance about in frenzy: 

“Smash ’em! Bash ‘em! Grind ’em down!” 


But the barrage would grow silent 
And the skyglow fade away. 
“Now then what, Dad?” 

“Well, the Big Push 

Wasn’t meant to come this way.” 


Though he’d never bargained for it, 
Dad began to feel that he 

Was in some way answerable 

For the final victory. 


So he hid his disappointment 

At the lack of better news, 

Thinking out the whys and wherefores, 
Aiways finding an excuse. 


298 


Ho xorga mopa Hactaaa, 
JloaromwK AaHHbii BbIILIEeA CpoK, 
To BnepBre BOHH CTapbil 
Huuero cka3aTb He MOT... 


Bce Tpesorn, Bce 3a60THI 

Y awAeh CAMAMCh B OJHY: 
Yro6 3a wac Ao TOK cBobo,sBI 
He mocruraa CMepTb B MAeHy. 


* * 


B HO4b, KaK BCe, CTApHK C *KeHOH 
[loceAMAHCb B AME. 

A BodHa— He CTOpOHOH, 

Hert, Haq roAaosamu. 


AlOBEAOCh NOY CTAapOcTh AeT: 
Hu B nytTu, 4M 4OMa, 

A y BXxO4a Ha TOT CBeT 
HKaAaTbh = WaCI_ NIpHema. 


Iloq HaKaToM U3 xep sei, 

Ha MellIKe KapTOuIKH, 

C y3eAKom, C ropmikKoM yraei, 
C kypuye B AyKOUIKe... 


Ape BOWHEI Mpowsea COAAaT 
LJeani, HeBpeauMbiit. 
Ilomjaqu ero, cnapag, 
B KoHonAe pogumoi! 


IIpocsucru Hag roaoson, 
Ho B6anu3m He Nagai, 
jae eCAW TH M CBOH,— 
Bce paBuo ue Hao! 


MeaKo KpeCTHTCA 2keHa, 

CaM He CKpoelllb 4poxKu: 
Beab 2KHBad CMeEpTb CTpauiHa 
Vi coagaty Tome. 


299 


-But, at last, when Zero Hour came 
On the long-awaited day, 

For the very first time, Grandpa 
Couldn’t think of what to say. 


All anxieties, all worries 
Came to one thing: not to die 
On the eve of liberation 
While still in captivity. 


x * x 


Night. Like all, the aged couple 
In their pit took cover, 

As the heavy stuff this time 
Flew directly over. 


In old age, not in their home, 
Not in comfort, even, 

Waiting in-reception hours 
At the gates of heaven. 


Underneath a roof of poles, 
Sack of spuds for seating, 
Bundle, chicken in a skip, 
Pot of coals for heating.... 


He’s a veteran of two wars, 
Neither maimed nor crippled. 
Shell, please try and spare his life 
In his native hemp field. 


Whistle safely overhead, 

But don’t land beside, him. 
Though you may be Russian-made, 
Even so, avoid him. , 


Hastily she crossed herself, 
While he sat there, trembling. 
Soldiers fear a living death 
Too—no use dissembling. 


300 


CrTuxHyA rpoxoT orHesonw 

C noaHounw BrepBEle. 
Bapyr— warn 3a KOHOTIAeH. 
— Ry. HAYT... HEMBIE... 


Ilo KapropeAbHbIM pxAAaM 

K norpe6ymke npxmo. 

— Hy, crapnk, He BpliTH HaM 
V3 roroBow AMBI. 


Ho crapuk BCTAaeT, NAWeT 
Ilo-my2KMUKM B pyKy, 

3a TONOp—nu Haneped: 
SacAOHHA CTapyxy. 


Tu6eab BepHyl0 CBOW, 

Kak TOT MHI HH ropek, 
Ilopemmma sctpeyatp B Gon, 
AlepxuT CBO TONOpHK. 


Bot warn y Kpaa —cron! 
UV ua my6y rayxo 
OcpinaeTca OKON. 
O6mepaa cTapyxa. 


Bce xe Bpoge Kak *UBa,— 
Hare mecto cBato,— 
CABIMIHT pyCCKHe CAOBa: 
— dKutean, pe6ata?.. 


— Aletxn! Poguenpkue... Jetxn!.. 
YpoHWA TONOpHK Jed. 

— Muh, oTel, ele B pasBeake, 
Tex scrpeyaii, aro 6yayT Bcaed. 


Ha no,6op opan-pebara, 
Moadogey, AO MOAOALA. 

VW crapmou y annapata,— 
XOTb TH 4TO, 3HaKOM C ANIA. 


— Saxyputs? Beptu, nanama.— 
Alea cagutca, BbiITep ao6, 


301 


Only midnight brought an end 
To the heavy firing. 

Then, beyond the field of hemp, 
Someone's footsteps nearing.... 


Over the potato patch, 

Straight towards the cellar.... 
“Well, we dug ourselves a tomb, 
No mistake, old feller!” 


But he stands, spits on his hands, 
Like a lusty ploughman; 

Takes the axe and bars the way, 
Shielding his old woman. 


Bitter though the end may be, 
He stays firm and steady, 

All prepared to meet his doom, 
Chopper at the ready. 


Footsteps on the edge. They stop. 
Down the dirt comes showering 
On her tattered winter coat. 

She half faints there, cowering. 


But she’s still alive somehow. 
“We did well to hide here.” 
Then they hear a Russian voice: 
“Anyone inside there?” 


‘Why, they’re ours! My dear, dear boys!“ and 
Grandpa let his chopper fall. 

“Wait and meet the ones behind us. 

We're just on advance patrol.” 


Handpicked soldiers in this detail. 
Fach a fighter to the core; 

And their senior with the handset... 
Seen that face somewhere before. 


“Want a smoke? Here, roll one, Grandpa.” 
Dad sat down, his knees gone weak. 


302 


— Hy, pe6ara, caacTbe name — 
Toaoc nogaan. A To 6... 


VW scrapmiow emy KuBaeT: 
— Huzgero. Ha Tom cToum. 
Ha Botne, orey, 6b1BaeT — 
[lonagaeT No CBOMM. 


— Touno tax.— HW tyr Ont Aeay 
B caMbiw pa3, 4TO MOKypHTh, 

B camp pa3 npogantb Gecegy: 
CroapKxo «4a! —[loropoputp. 


Ho own ciiemaT He B MIYTKy. 
Vi ewe He CHAACH ABIM... 

— [Tlorogn, ore, MHHYyTKy, 
Ajai cnepsa ocBo6o,guo... 


Moaogely eMy lip 3TOM 
TloamurnyaA AAA Kpacorhl, 
Vero no BcemM NpHMetTam 
Alea y3Haa: 

— Tak 9To * Thi! 


A\pyr-3HakoMell, MacTep-yxapb, 
C Kem CHgeaH y CTOAA. 
Tloraaqu ckopeH, crapyxa! 
Y3Haelllb €FO, OpAa? 


Ta kak TAMHY Aa: 
— Cpnouer! 

Toay6ouek. Bot yx roctb. 
MorkeT, Cara CbeLIb Kycouek, 
Boesaa, yctaa He6ocb: 


CMOTPpHT OH, IyTHHK TOT CaMBIit: 
— Saxycutb On CyeA 3a 4ECTH, 
Ho sedb Hety, 6a6xa, cana? 

— /Ja M HeT, a BCe He CCTh... 


— 3HauHT, eA, Oped, MOKyAa. 
— Hy, orey, He TOABKO eA’ 


303 


Wiped his brow. “You nearly had it. 
Just as well I heard you speak.” 


And the senior nodded at him. 
“Never mind. It works both ways. 
War is war, Dad. And you sometimes 
Knock your own men out these days.” 


“True enough.” All of a sudden 

Dad wants to prolong his smoke. 

Try and keep them chatting, somehow. 
Two long years! Must have a talk! 


But the time was really pressing. 

Hardly had the smoke dispersed... 
“Have some patience, Grandad; we must 
Do some liberating first.” 


And the senior winked and nodded 
In a way that Grandpa knew. 

He looked closer at the young man; 
Recognised him: 

“Why, it’s you! 


“It’s our friend, the master craftsman, 
And our guest of long ago. 

Quickly, wife, look closer at him! 
Don’t you recognise him now?” 


And she stared: 

“My goodness gracious! 

You, my son! Well, be our guest! 

Would you like some bacon? You’ve been 
Fighting, you must need a rest.” 


Said the senior, eyes a-twinkle: 
‘Why, I'd be most honoured, Mum. 
But you must be out of bacon....” 
“Yes, but—well, we have got some.” 
“So, my boy, still in one piece, eh?” 
“More than that. When I left you 


304 


Orcrymaa cOAgaT OTCAa, 
A Teflepb, raaau, KTO 6byay,— 
Bpoge Aaxe ouLep. 


— Odguuep? Tax-tax. IlonatHo,— 
flea KuBaeT TOAOBON.— 

Hy, a ecan... Ha NONATHBIN, 

To ONATb Kak pxAOBOH?.. 


— Hert, oreu, aaby Ab. OtuplHe 
HepylWuM MpocTou 3aBerT: 

Hu B 6oAbIU0OM, HH B MaAOM 4HHE 
Ha nNonATHBIM XOAy HET. 


OTKaxKH MHE B YeEPCTBOH KOpKe, 
IIporonu Torga 3a ABepb. 

Oro a, Bacuann Tepxun, 
Tosopw. VM Ta yx Beps. 


— fa yx sepw! Kak noayume, 
Ha Kako Tellepb MaHep: 
Tocnoguu, CKa3aTb, no pysMK 
Mab ToBapuy ouyep: 


— Crap rogamu, caa6 raa3amn, 
VM, ognako, ThI, CTapHk, 

3a 4ABa roga Cc rocnogaMu 

K o6pamjenio MpuBBIK... 


Alea — MaeBaTbCa, a CTapyxa, 
Tognepmuch OAHOKW pyKoH, 
UytTb CKAOHACh H STY pyKy 
B3ABUIM 1104 AOKOTb Apyron, 
Bce CMOTpeAa, KaK Ha CbiHa 
CMOTPHT MaTb H3 yroAKa. 


— Saxycu euje,— npocuaa,— 
GakyCcu, Moeulb MOKa... 


Vscneuiwva, a Bce & OTBEAAA, 
YTOCTHACA, KaK pOAHOH. 
Ta6aky oTcninaa Jeay 

VW smpocruaca. 


305 


In retreat, I was a soldier. 
Now I’m back, I’m not just older — 
Look — I’ve got some stripes on too!” 


“NCO?” Dad nodded sagely. 
“Well, that’s sense enough, at least. 
Will they take ’em off again, though, 
If you have to head back east?” 


“No, forget it! That’s all over, 
And I swear this solemn vow: 
No one, officer or ranker, 

Is retreating —as from now. 


“Give me never a crust of rye bread, 
Turn me from your door away. 

I, Vassili Tyorkin, swear it. 

Trust in every word I say.” 


“I believe you well and truly. 

How should I address you, though? 
Mister Ensign would it be, or 
Simply Comrade NCO?” 


“Old in years and weak of eyesight, 
And infirm though you may be, 

These two years have taught you how to 
Treat the master race, I see.” 


Grandpa spat. His wife, however, 
One hand propping up her chin, 
While the other gripped her elbow, 
Stared at Tyorkin; stared at him, 
As a mother from the corner 
Gazes at her favourite son. 


“Have a bite to eat,” she urged him. 
“Have a little bite— just one...” 


Pressed for time, he snatched a morsel, 
Seeming quite at home. Then he 
Shook some baccy out for Grandpa, 
Said goodbye. 


306 


— Csa3b, 3a MHOK! — 

VU yxe npoija HeMHOrO,— 
Mactep MaMATAMB M TYT,— 
Tepxun 6yaTo 651 c nopora 
IIpo aacbi cipocna: 

— Wayr? 


— Kak He Tak!—¥ BHOBb Ipuinna 
Ba6e KHHYTbCA B CAe3y. 


— byaet, 6a6xa! W3 bepanua 
Z\poe HOBBIX TIpHBe3y. 


307 


“Men, follow me!” 
Half-a-dozén paces later — 

No flies on his memory!— 
Tyorkin, as if in their doorway, 
Asked: 

“Clock working, by the way?” 


“No, it’s gone!” Another reason 
For the wife to shed a tear. 


“Don’t you cry. I'll bring two new ones 
From Berlin, Mum— never fear!” 


308 


HA AHENPE 


3a pekow eme Yrpow, 

Uro ocraaacb no3agn, 
Tenepaa cKa3aa repow: 

— Ham c ro6ow no nytTh... 


BoT, Ka3aA0Cb, NapHIO CuaCTbe, 
HactymaTb pacueT mpsamon: 
Co caoeH rBapaevickoi yacTbIo 
Ha Bohne puget AomMoHn. 


Ho egBa Ab yxe MOK Tepxkuu, 
JKU3HbIO TEPTHI YeAOBEK, 
IIpu gepuoHKax Ha BedepKe 
TloMpimAaA KypuTb «Ka36ex»... 


Bce *e C KaxkKAbIM Nepexosom, 

C Kak AbIM AHEM, 4TO 6aMxKeE K Heli, 
Cropona, OTKyJa pogo, 

Semanky Gprraa GoAbHe;. 


Vi 8B nytn, B ropayKe 60a, 
Ha lpupaae BO CHE 


ON THE DNIEPER 


Just as soon as one fair river — 
‘The Ugra—behind them lay, 

Said the General to Tyorkin: 
“We're all heading back your way.” 


Now, this should have made him happy, 
For it was an ideal chance 

To go home with his Guards unit 

In the Army’s great advance. 


But my Tyorkin, seasoned soldier, 
Hardly thought this time how he 

Would produce Kazbeks and smoke them 
For the village girls to see. 


With each stage, each day that brought him 
Nearer to his home, he’d yearn 

With a deep and anguished longing 

For the place where he was born. 


Marching, fighting, bivouacking, 
Or in sleep—time and again 


310 


B Hem 2«XHAa Cama co6oI0 
Peub K pOAHMOM CTOpOoHe: 


— MarTb-3eman MOA poguaa, 
Cropona MOA AecHax, 
IIpHanenposcKHii OTUMH Kpai, 
SApaBcrByi, ChiHa NpuBeuall! 


3ApaBcrByH, NecrpaA ocuHKa, 

PaHHeH OceHu KpaCa, 

Sapanctsyi, Easua, 3A4papcrsyi, Panuuxa, 
3apancrByi, perka Ayzeca... 


Marb-3eMAA MOM poduan, 
A TBOW H3BeAaA BAACTH, 
Kak Ayia Mo” OOABHaA 

VW3gaau K Te6e pBaaacp! 


Al 3arHyA TaKoro KpwWKy, 
A mpomiea Takyl Aaab, 
VM puaaa Taky0 Myky, 
Vi Takylo 3HaA Teaap! 


MaTb-3eMAA MOA podHan, 
J\bIMHbIM AeAOBCKHH GOAbIIAaK, 
A po To He BCNOMHHaD, 

He xBaawch, a TOABKO Tak!.. 


Al uay « Te6e c BocToka, 

Al TOT caMbili, He HHO. 

Tul B3rAAHH, B340XHU ray6oKo, 
BcTpeTBCA HaHOBO CO MHO#. 


MarTb-3eMAA MOA poaHaa, 
PaqM pagOcTHoro AHA 

Tht MpocTu, 3a YTO— HE 3Hal0, 
TOAbKO TBI MpocTu MeHal.. 


Tak B HyTH, B ropsyKe 602, 
B cyere XAOnoT H BCTpe4 

B HeM *KHAa CaMa CO6O1I0 
Ota MecHA HAH peub. 


311 


He would find himself repeating 
Like a lyrical refrain: 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 

Land of woods and dreaming forest, 
Dnieper where I used to roam, 

Give your son a welcome home! 


Greetings, dappled, quivering aspen; 
Autumn’s pride and joy you are. 
Greetings, Yelnya, greetings, Glinka,* 
Greetings, River Luchesa.... 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 
How I felt your magic sway! 
How my heart, forever pining, 
Yearned for you from far away! 


Devious was the road I followed; 
I’ve come back the long way home. 
I have seen such pain and suffering, 
And such sorrow have I known. 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 
Dusty road my fathers knew — 
No, ll say no more about it; 
I’m not boasting, but it’s true! 


From the east am I returning; 
I’ve not changed, I’m just the same. 
Gaze upon me, sighing deeply; 
Welcome me back home again. 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 
Think of that most joyful day, 

And forgive me— why, I know not, 
But forgive me anyway. 


Marching, fighting, meeting others, 
On fatigues — time and again 
He would find himself repeating 
This half-lyrical refrain. 
* The Russian composer Glinka (1804-1857) was born in the 


village of Novospasskoye near Yelnya, Smolensk Gubernia.— 
Tr. . 


312 


Ho pot#una—en Bce e€AHHO, 
Bce — xopouime Kpan: 

Uto Kasxa3, uro YKpauna, 
Uro CmMoaeHuHHa TBOS. 


Uepe3 peku HW peyouKH, 

Ilo MocTaM, H BIAaBb, MW BOpOd, 
MuMo, MMMO TOM CTOPOHKH 
Ilka AHBUM3HA Breped. 


A aeBee TOK Nopon, 
PaHHeH OCeHbIO CyxOH, 
3aHMMaA CeAO repox 
Tenepaa coscem Apyroi... 


@MpouT MOAHEA, Kak MOAOBOAbE, 
Biupb WM BAaAb. K Auenpy, kK AjHenpy 
Koun WAM, NpOcA NOBOABA, 

Kak C AOporn KO ABOpy. 


MB man, pa6on oT nota, 
@MpOHTOBOH CMEAACA AOA: 
XOpowo uAeT Nexota, 

Pa3 KOAeCa OTCTANT. 


Humouyem, 4To ycrapaau 

Ilo nytu k 6Goanmo0u% pexe 
Tak, 4TO AOKKY Ha IpHBare 
He Morau AepxaTb B pyke. 


BHOBb CHAbHBI CBATBIM TOpBIBOM, 
(Iau Bnepe” CBouM MyTem, 

Co crpadaAbuecKH-CuaCTAMBBIM, 
Or %Kapbl OTKPBITBIM PTOM. 


Caeba Halliu, CipaBa Haun, 

He otctaTb 6bi Ha xoAy. 

— Heme kyxuu c Tenaoi Kamen 
Broponsax 3a6pia B cay. 


— Iloanepet» ero 4a B Body. 
— anna Oeper, cyKHH chin! 


313 


War itself draws no distinctions. 
Every single land is fair, 

Whether Caucasus, Ukraine, or 
That Smolensk of yours out there. 


Crossing streams and crossing rivers, 
Fording, bridging, day by day 

Your division, pushing onwards, 
Never even went your way. 


Further south, in early autumn 
As the leaves began to fall, 
Tyorkin’s village was recaptured 
By some other general... 


Far and wide the front spread outwards 
Like a river in full spate. 

Horses trotted to the Dnieper 

As if to their farmyard gate. 


And up front the men were laughing, 
Faces sweat-and-dust-begrimed. 
Yes, the infantry make progress 
Once the transport falls behind. 


And they never minded being 
So exhausted by their trek 

To the river, they could hardly 
Hold their spoons on bivouac. 


Strengthened by new hope and purpose, 
They pushed on their stubborn way, 
Mouths agape with joy and suffering, 
And the blistering heat of day. 


On the left hand, on the right hand — 
Our troops, all. Keep on the move! 
“Jerry’s fled some orchard, left the 
Porridge cooking on the stove.” 


“Chuck him straight into the river!” 
“Can't. He’s on the bank — dug in.” 


314 


— Tosopat, yx 3aHAA C xOAy 
HaceaeHHbit MyHKT bepaun... 


3oaotToe 6a6be AeTO 

OctaBana 3a co6oi, 

Ilan Bolicka—wu BApyr Cc paccBeTa 
Hactynua AHemposcKni Goi... 


MoxerT 6nITb, B MHEIE TOdH, 
Ounmjan pycaa pex, 

Bce, 4TO CKpbIAH 9TH BOA, 
BHOBb YBHAMT 4eAOBeK. 


O6napyXuT B HAaX COHHHIX, 
Hspaeuet 43 pri6net Mranl, 
Kak CTBOAB AyOoB MOpeHEIX, 
Opyauinple CTBOABI; 


pyocknit TaHK C H€MEI|KHM B Mape, 
TO HalllAH OAHH KOHeL, 

Hi o60nx noaymapuit 

Craab, pe3HHy H CBHHEL; 


XaAaM BOHMHbI— NOHTOHAa AHH, 

Tpoc, o6o0pBaHHHM B necke, 
Tonop 6e3 Tonopuyya, 

Yo canep AepxKaa B pyke. 


Moxer 6niTb, Kyfa Kak myuye 

VM 06 stom Tonope 

CkaxkeT KTO-Hu6yAb B rpaayuet 
l'pomxoii necue 0 Anenpe; 


O crpage HeMMOBepHOH 
KpoBbl0 MaMATHOTO AHA. 


Ho 0 yeM-HnOyAb, HaBepHo, 
On He CKaxKeT 3a MeHA. 


Ilycrb He MHe elle c 3agayel 
Batao caaguts. He 6ega. 
B uem-To 4 ero 6Goraxze,— 


315 


“I've heard he’s consolidating 
In some village called Berlin.” 


Indian summer’s gold behind them, 
Stull the troops pushed on their way. 
Then the Battle of the Dnieper 
Broke before the dawn one day. 


At some later time, it may be, 
Dredging in the river mud, 

Men will once again set eyes on 
What was swallowed by the flood; 


Dragging from the fishy darkness, 
From the drowsy ooze .and slime, 
Black gun-barrels like fumed oak-logs; 
Finding, after all this time, 


Two great tanks in final deadlock 

Where they clashed — one ours, one theirs; 
Bits of steel and lead and rubber, 
Fragments of both hemispheres; 


War’s old junk—a pontoon bottom, 
Snapped-off hawser in the sand, 
And the head of some old chopper 
Wielded by a sapper’s hand. 


And some poet of the future, 
Singing of that very axe 

In his epic of the Dnieper, 
May give what my story lacks, 


Telling of the bloody harvest 
Reaped that memorable day. 


But there’s one thing he can never 
Claim on my behalf, I'd say. 


If I haven’t done full justice 
To my subject, that’s no crime. 
My advantage is that I was 


316 


Al crymaa B TOT CAegq ropauHi. 
A tam Ona. A «HA TOraa... 


Ecau C rpy30M MHOTOTOHHBIM 
OrcTawT rpy30BHKH, 

Vis korga-TO MOCT NOHTOHHBIH 
Ale6epetca Ao peku,— 


Ilog orem He 2KJeT NexoTa, 
YcTaBHOHW AepRacb CTAThH, 
3a 1apoM HAYT BOpoTa; 
fjockxu, OpepHa— 3a AaAbu. 


K noun 6yayT nepenpasBn, 
B cpok NOAHHMYyTCA MOCTHI, 
A pe6stam Oeper npaBalit 
Cpecna Ha BOAY KyCTHI. 


Tloanabipait, xBaTa 3a TpuBy, 
CaosHo 4go6poro KoHA. 
Tlepegnnuka 104 o6prrBoM 

V1 s3auyuta OT orHa. 


He 6ea4a, 4To C THMHAaCTepKH, 
Co scero pyubemM TeueT... 
Touno tak Bacnani Tepknn 
UV scrynna wa Oeper Tort. 


Ha 3ape TyMaH KyAAaTBIi, 
CnytTaB AbIMBI HW AbIMKH, 

B Oeperax CNOA3aA KyJa-TO, 
Kak peka NOBepx pekH. 


HM euje B pasrape 60a, 
Hprnye, MoxeT OnITb, BOT-BOT, 
Bmecte c 6eperom, c 3eMAel0 
byaeT B Bogy cOpomen B3B04. 


Bupouem, BCAKOe NpHBEIGHO,— 
Cpok BOHHEI, 4TO KH3HH BEK. 
OT 3acTaBhl NOrpanHHunowi 

flo Mocksbi-peku CToAH4YHOH 
MV o6paTHo — cToAbKo per! 


317 


Hot upon the army’s traces; 
I was present at the time.... 


Though the lorries haven’t come yet 
With their urgent, heavy load, 

And the pontoon bridge is held up 
Somewhere back along the road, 


Soldiers under fire don’t tarry, 
Orders must be carried out. 

Farm-gates go to make a ferry. 
Logs and planks will make a boat. 


There'll be crossings come the night-time, 
And the bridges will be thrown. 
Meanwhile, there are friendly bushes 

On the right bank reaching down. 


Swim across to them and grab them, 
As you'd clutch a horse’s mane. 
Sheltered by the cliff from gunfire, 
Rest and get your wind again. 


Doesn’t matter if your Army 
Tunic’s dripping wet and dank. 
That’s the way that Vasva Tyorkin’s 
Made it to the other bank. 


And the shaggy, mist at sunrise 
Mingling wit the smoke, is seen 
River-like above the river 

Crawling off somewhere downstream. 


Now the battle nears crescendo 
And it seems about to blow 
Men and earth into the river 
Almost any moment now. 


War can seem to last a lifetime, 
And you soon pick up the knack. 
Just how many rivers are there 
From the outpost on the frontier 
Up to the Moskva and back! 


318 


Bot yxe 6boey nocaequui 
Balae3aeT Ha MecoK 

Vs xyeT cyxapb HeMeJAA, 
Iloromy —B AjHenpe HaMoK. 


Moxpslit caM, WypwHT WTaHaMH. 
Huuero! — Ha To gecantT. 

— Hactynaem. Anenp 3a Hamu, 
A, TOBapHly AeHTeHaHT?.. 


bow rpemea 3a Mepernpasy, 

A BHMHB3y, 1OxKHeEe YYTb— 
Hemupi C AeBOrO Ha MpaBbii, - 
3amo34aB, JepKaaH IyTb. 


Ho yxxe He pa3MHHyTBCaA, 

Tepyun CTporo rOBOpHT: 

— Ilycrb Ha AeBOM B MAeH CAalOTCA, 
3Aecb 1OKa IpHeM 3akphiT. 


A Ha Ae€BOM C xOdy, C XOAy 
Tlogocnesmne WTHKH 
Vix TOAKaAH B BOAY, B BOAY, 
A Boga ce6e TeKH... 


Meme Mex Oeperamu 
bes pas6opy, Hayrag 
BomOnI cBaw MOMOraAH 
3arouAThb, CTCAHTb Hakar. 


Ho yxe u3 norpebymex, 

V3 kycTos, AecHHXx. bepaor 
Ilex Hapog”— pogHbie Ayu — 
IIo o604HHAaM AOpor... 


K wita6y wa Oeper BocTrouHbtii 
TlAeaca cTexKOH, CTOpOHOK 
Hexuii Hemeyy SecnopTounniit, 
Becean Hapog 4ecTHOH. 


— C nepenpasni? 
— C nepenpasui. 


319 


Now here comes the last man crawling 
Out onto the sandy strip, 

Gulping down a hurried biscuit 
Sodden from the river trip. 


And he’s wet, his breeches squelching. 
That’s assault! He doesn’t care! 

‘Well, we’ve got that job behind us. 
True, eh, Comrade Officer?” 


As the river battle thundered, 

Some late German troops were seen 
Heading from left bank to right bank 
Slightly southwards, just downstream. 


No, they mustn’t cross each other! 
Tyorkin muttered, looking grim: 
“Round them all up on the left bank. 
We're not taking any in.” 


And our bayonets, pressing onwards 
Over on the other side, 

Herded Fritz into the water. 

Run you soft, sweet river tide....: 


Bomb-loads falling on the river 

Here, there, everywhere, on spec, 
Helped the driving of the bridge piles 
And the laying of the deck. 


And from cellars, bushes, forest 
Caves where they had fled to hide, 
Came the people, Russian people, 
Down the roads on either side. 


And, towards east bank Headquarters, 
Keeping clear, one German went, 
Caught alive without his trousers, 

To the general merriment. 


“From the crossing?” 
“From the crossing. 


320 


TOAbBKO-TOADKO 43 /HerIpa. 

— Tlaasaa, 3HayuuT? 

— J]aaBaa, AbABOA, 

Tloromy —npuutaa Kapa... 

— Cpirpiii, yept! 

UncTONOpodHbIn. 

— B meu cneuiuT, kak Ha IIpHBaa... 


Ho yxe so6umel, B3BOAHBIH — 
Tepkuu, B IiyTKH He BCTpeBaa. 
Ou KYPHA, CMOTpeA HECTPOrO, 
AlyMou 3aHATHIM CBoeH. 

3a CIMHOM ero AOpora 

Muoro pa3 6plaa AAMHHeH. 

Vis Moauaa OH He B O6uge, 

He komy-Hu6yJb B ympeK,— 
IIpocro, 60abmre 3HaA MH BHAeA, 
Tlorepsa u y6eper... 


— Marb-3eMan MOA pognan, 
Bcx CMOACHCKaA pOdHA, 

TI mpoctu, 3a YTO— He 3Habd, 
TOAbKO TBI 1Ipoctru MeHs! 

He B maeny Te6a %KeCTOKOM, 
Ilo Aopore @ponToson, 

A B pogHoM ThIAy ray6oKom 
OctapaseT TepkuH TBOH. 
Munya CpoK rogHHbl TOpbKoH, 
He Bopotutca na3aJ. 


— Uro * TH, Opar, Bacuani Tepxun, 
[Taayeulb Bpoge?.. 
— Buuopat... 


321 


From the Dnieper like a shot!” 
“Swimming, was he?” 

“Yes, the devil— 

Found things getting far too hot!” 
“Fatl” 

“Pure bred. And off to prison 
Like it was a health resort....” 


But the unit’s favourite, Tyorkin, 

Didn't try to join the sport, 

Watching without condemnation, 
Smoking, wholly lost in thought; 

For the road that lay behind him 

Was much longer now by far. 

But his silence meant no rancour 

Or resentment that he bore — 

No, it meant he’d learned and witnessed, 
Lost and salvaged that much more... 


Motherland, of all the fairest, 

Dear Smolensk, once more I say, 
Please forgive me— why, I know not, 
But forgive me anyway. 

Tyorkin leaves you, not to cruel 
Tnraldom near the front somewhere; 
No, he leaves you now in safety 

Far back in the Russian rear. 

It’s all over now. The bitter 

Years of strife are at an end. 


‘“What’s this then, Vassili Tyorkin... 
Weeping, are you?” 
“Sorry, friend....” 


322 


TIPO COAAATA-CHPOTY 


Hpinye peun o bepanne. 
Ilyrkn mpoub,—nogaw bepauu. 
UW AaBHo yx He B MOMHHE, 
Cxaxem, Apepunui ropog Kanu. 


VW wa Ogepe eapa Au 
BcnoMHAT 4aKe CTapHKhH, 
Kak noaroga c 6010 6paan 
Haceaenuuit nyHKt bopxu. 


A nog Temu 104 bopKamu 

Kak Abid KaMEHb, KaKAbIM KOA 
Ha TpH XKM3HH BAaACA B MaMATb 
Ham C COAAaTOM-3EMAAKOM. 


BblA 3€EMAAK HE CTap, He MOAOA, 
Ha Boue c Toro *e AHA 

Vi taxon xe OblA BeCeALIN, 
Hanogo6One Mena. 


IIpHxoAvaocb MapHio Apanatp, 
Boappit Ayx scerga Geper, 


THE BEREAVED SOLDIER 


Now Berlin’s the only topic. 

Yes, that’s true. Next stop Berlin! 
It’s a long time since we thought of, 
Say, the ancient town of Klin. 


Even old men by the Oder 
May not easily recall 

How the capture of Borki took 
Six months’ fighting, all in all. 


Yet each stone, each wooden fence-post 
Near that village of Borki, 

Ever haunts the memory of my 

Fellow countryman and me. 


He joined up the day that I did. 
He was neither young nor old; 
In a way, much like yours truly, 
Cheerfully inclined, and bold. 


When the laddie had to beat it, 
Not discouraged in the least: 


324 


Hloptopaa: «Bneped, Ha 3anag», 
Ilpoapurasch Ha BOCTOK. 


Mex dy lpoumM, mp orxo/e, 
Kak cgaBaanv ropoga, 

boapme Bpoge OblA OH B MOZe, 
BoOAbINe CAABHACA TOrAa. 


Vs no crpanuoctn, 6s1Baao, 
OqHomy emy mouer, 

Tak 4TO qaxKe reHepaabl 
Baran 6yATo 6b He B CueT. 


Cpok HHO, MHbIe AaTHl. 
Pa3qeaeH M3ApeBae Tpyd: 
Topoga cAawT coAgaTEt, 
Tenepaant ux 6epyr. 


B o6umem, Ours, TEPTbIM, HOKEHBIH, 
PaHoH MeuveHHbIi ABOHHON, 

B copox nepBom oKpyxKeHHBlii, 

IIo 3eMAe OH IEA poquok. 


Illex coAgaT, Kak IAM Apyrne, 
B Hew3BecTuple Kpan: 

«4ro Tam, re ona, Poccua, 
Ilo kako py6ex cBos?..» 


VB IAeHy CeMbIO KHgaag, 
3a BOMHOK cea ckopen, 
UTo On AyMaa, He rasa, 
UTo OH HEC B Aye CBoeH. 


Ho kakan Hu MOpOKa, 

ITpapaa NpaBAOH, AOKbIO AOKb. 
Orctynaan MBI JO Cpoka, 
OTcTyMaau MBI JaAeKo, 

Ho scerga TBEpAHAN: 

— Bpeut!.. 


YU Tellepb B3lAAHYTb Ha 3alad 
Or croanup. Kpait poguoii! 


325 


“To the west!” he kept on saying, 
While he headed for the east. 


By the way, as we retreated, 

And as town fell after town, 

He was much more in the fashion, 
He was. far, far better known. 


Strange, but the respect and honour 
That we held him in was such 
That the generals even didn’t 
Seem to count for very much. 


Labour always was divided 

Since the earliest of wars. 

Only troops surrender cities, 
Generals capture them, of course! 


So in Forty One, encircled, 
Bothered a double wound, 
Badly knocked about and battered, 
He retreated from home ground, 


Marching, like the other soldiers, 

Into lands that no one knew. 

‘‘What’s ahead? Where are you, Russia? 
How much is there left of you?” 


As he left his folks defenceless, 
Hurrying in the train of war, 
What he thought, I can’t imagine, 
Or what secret grief he bore. 


But, however great the muddle, 
False is false and true is true. 
To a certain point we beat it, 
Deep into the rear retreated. 
But repeated: 

“This won’t do!” 


Now look west from Moscow city. 
It’s our land again —yes, all! 


326 


He Ha myTky OBA OH 3anepT 
3a 2*KeAe3HOW CTeHOM. 


Vs ao MaaAoro Ce€ACHbA 

Ta “3 MaeHa CTOpoHa 

He no ujyabemy BeAeHbiO 
BHOBb CNOAHA BO3Bpallena, 


IIo BeaeHbioO Hale CHAHI, 

FyccKoi, coOcTBeHHOH CBOen. 
y-Ka, rae ona, Poccua, 

Y KaKHX rpeMHT gBepeli! 


UH, Hasexu cOuB oxoTy 

B Apaky Ae€3Tb Ha CBOM aBOC, 

Bpar ee— kaKou no cyeTy!— 
aA HHUKOM H AallH BpO3b. 


Hag kako croauyel KpyTo 
B3MbIA TBOH @Aar, OTUM3Ha-MaTb! 
HlogomwaemTe AO Caawta, 

Uro6ni B TOUHOCTH CKa3aTb. 


Cpok wHOH, HHBIe AaTH. 

paBda, HOMla He Aerka... 
Ho nmpogoaxuM po coagata, 
Kak CKa3aAH, 3€MAAKa. 


ZloM pOAHOH, *KeHa AM, ACTH, 
Bpat, cecTpa, OTel] HAb MaTb 
Y te6a BOT eCTb Ha CBeTe,— 
EcTb ky4a MHCbMO MOCAaTB. 


A y Hamero coagaTa— 
Aapecatom G6eabiii cBerT. 
Kpome paano, pe6ata, 
BAH3KHX POACTBCHHHKOB HET. 


Ha 3eMae Beero ZOpoxe, 
KOAb MMeelb po 3amac 
To OKHO, Ky4a TEI CMOXKELIb 
IlocrywaTaca B HeEKHH 4ac. 


327 


And to think that it was locked up 
Fast behind an iron wall! 


All, down to the tiniest hamlet, 
Is at long, long last set free, 
By no freak of fate delivered 
Out of dire captivity, 


But by spirit, plain and simple, 
Russian spirit, solely ours. 

Now just look! Where is she, Russia, 
Thundering at what alien doors? 


Cured, at last, for once and always 
Of the would-be conqueror’s lust, 

See the foe—and not the first one!— 
Sprawling face-down in the dust. 


Over what great city, Russia, 
Shall your flag triumphant soar? 
Wait until the victory salvoes, 
And we'll tell you then for sure. 


Times, they change, and so do places. 
True, the load’s a heavy one.... 

In the meantime, we'll continue 

With the story we've begun. ° 


If you have a home, wife, children, 
Brother, sister — you're all right. 

Then at least you know there’s someone 
Waiting for each word you write. 


But not so our fellow soldier; 
All the world’s his addressee. 
Radio excepted, brothers, 
No near relatives has he. 


Nothing in this world’s more precious 
Than to rest safe and secure 
Knowing there’s a certain window 
You can tap at any hour. 


328 


Ha noxofge 3a rpannyen, 
B uyxkeqaAbHOK CTOpOHeE, 
Ax, Kak 6bepexHO xXpaHHTCcA 
boab-MeuTa 0 TOM OKHe! 


A y Hamero coAgaTa,— 
XoTb cetuac BotHe oT60H,— 
Hu oxKoulka HeT, HM XaTHl, 
Hu xo3aHikn, XOTb *KeHaTHIN, 
Hu cpinka, a 6p1a, pe6ata,— 
Pucopaa Joma C Tpy6oi... 


Yloa CmMoaenckom HactTynaan. 
Banana oTaprx. Mow 3eMAaK 
O6paTuMaca Ha TIpHBaae 

K KOMaHAMpy: Tak HM TakK,— 


OTAYHHTBCA paspellnte, 

ZjeckaTb, CaAyyah Aoporon, 

Moa, MOCKOABKy MECTHBIM 2KHTCAB, 
flo ABOpa— nogaTb pyKon. 


Pa3pellaioT B Mepy Cpoka... 

Kpali H3BeCTHBIM AO KyctTa. 
O rAAAHT —He Ta Aopora, 

MectHoctTs 6y4ro 6bI He Ta. 


Bot u B3ropbe, BOT MH peuka, 
Taymb, 6bypbaH CoAgaTy B poct, 
J4ja wa croaGuKe goujeuKa, 
Moa, Aepesua Kpacupiit Moct. 


VM wauraucs, 4To 6b1AM 2KMBHI, 

Vf ckamu emy cipocta 

Bce no mpapge, 4To CAyKMBBIi — 
Ajoctopepubii cupota. 


Y AOWeIKH Ha pa3sBHAKe, 
CHAB MMAOTKy, Halll COAAaT 
Iloctosa, Kak Ha MOrHMAKe, 
VM nopa emy nHa3a4. 


329 


Far away across the border 

All throughout the long campaign, 
Oh, how you recall that window, 
With what tenderness and pain! 


But our luckless fellow soldier, 

Near the finish of the war, 

Has no window, has no cottage, 

Has no housewife, though he’s married, 
Has no son, although there was one— 
Houses, chimney stacks he’d draw.... 


Near Smolensk we'd been advancing. 
As it happened, things were slack. 
So he went to his commander 

While we were on bivouac. 


“Putting in for leave of absence. 
Me, I’m local. Chance to go, 

See my folks, visit my place there... 
Like to call and say hello.” 


Granted. He must not stay long, though... 


He knows every bush and tree, 
But the road looks somehow different; 
Things aren’t what they used to be. 


There’s the hill, and there’s the river; 
Weeds so tall you could get lost, 

And a board nailed up as signpost 
To his village: Krasny Most. 


Then he chanced on some survivors, 
And they told him honestly 

Without empty words or phrases 
That he’d lost his family. 


At the signpost by the junction, 
As if mourning at a grave, 
Forage cap in hand, he lingered 
Till at last he had to leave. 


330 


MY, MOABOpbe MOKHAAA, 

3a BOHHOH cinema cKopeH, 
Uro OH AyMaA, He ragabo, 
Uro oH HeC B Ayule CBoeH... 


Ho, 6e340MuHbIM MW Oe3posHbli, 
Bopotusmncb B 6aTaAbou, 
Ea COAdaT CBOH Cyl XOAOAHBIM 
Ilocae Bcex, 4 TAaKaa OH. 


Ha kpaio Cyxou KaHaBhl, 

C ropbKou, AeTCKOM Apormbw pta, 
Tlaakaa, CHA C AOKKOK B 1paBoH, 
C xae6om B AeBOH,— CHpoTa. 


IIaaxaa, MomeT ObITb, O ChIHE, 
O >KeHe, 0 4eM HHOM, 

O ce6e, 4uro 3HaA: OTHBIHE 
TIAakaTb HeEKOMy 0 HeM. 


Aoanen 6bIA COAZAaT HB rope 
SakyCHTb HU OTAOXHYTB, 
Tlotomy, Apy3bA, 4TO BCKOpe 
Kaan ero Aaaekuii NyTb. 


Alo 3eMAM COBeTCKOH Kpan 
Ilea TOT NyTb B BOHHE, B Tpyde. 


A Botina nmoulaa TakaaA — 
KyXHH C3a4M, 4epT Hx rae! 


Ilosa6y4euth 4 Mpo roaog 

3a xopoulelo BOHHOH. 

Ilyrku, uro AM, CyTKH—ropog, 
Ajpoe cyTtoK — o6AacTHOH. 


Cpok HHO, Nopa nHaA— 
bei, ronv, nepenumaii. 
beaopyccua poanan, 

YkpanHa 30A0TAaA, 
3apapcrsyi, nean, 4 npowait. 


331 


As he turned and left his homestead, 
Hurrying in the train of war, 

What he thought, I can’t imagine, 
Or what secret grief he bore.... 


Back again with his battalion, 
Homeless and bereaved, alone, 
There he ate his cold soup, weeping 
After all the rest had gone, — 


By a dried-up ditch, lips trembling, 

As if he were just a child, 

Spoon in one hand, bread in the other, 
All alone in this wide world. 


Weeping for his son, it may be, 

For his wife, or in the grim 

Knowledge that henceforth there could be 
No one left to weep for him. 


Even in his grief, my soldier 

Needs must sleep and snatch some rest, 
With a long, long march before him 
Far into the unknown west. 


Toil and battle lay between him 
And the Soviet frontier. 


What a crazy war — field kitchens 
Missing somewhere in the rear! 


Still, you can forget you’re hungry 
When the war goes well for you. 
Country market town in one day, 
And the city reached in two. 


Times, they change, and so do places. 
Strike, chase, intercept the foe. 
Byelorussia’s lakes and forests, 

Fair Ukraine of golden harvests — 
Hail, farewell, and on we go! 


332 


Tlosa6ygemib H 1po *KaxAy, 
Tloromy 4TO MHBO MbeT 

Ha BonMHe OTHIOAb HE KaxK AIM 
Tot, uTo 6paa NMBHOH 3aBO04. 


Tak-TO C XOAy AM, HE C xOAy, 
Coctyn“sB C pog”HOH 3eMan, 
TlorpaHwuHbix pewek BOAy 
Msi c 60a8MH TMepenLan. 


CueT cBegeH, H4eT pacitaata 
Ha cpBeTy, HaudHcroTy. 

Ho 3aKoH4HM po coagata, 
IIpo roro xe cuporty. 


I'ge OH HbIHYe Ha MOBepKy. 
MoxeT, Waa B 6010 Kakom, 
C Meakoi Hagnuchlo danepKy 
SaHeCAO CbIPBIM CHEKKOM. 


Mau cuopa ObIA OH paHeH, 
OTAOXHYA, KaK JOAT BEAT, 

HM onarb Ha nose Opann 
Bmecte c Hamu 6paa THAb3uT? 


WU, Poccuw noKnaaa, 

3a BOHHOHK crema cKopeii, 
UrTo on AyMaa, He raga, 
UTo OH HEC B Aye CBOE. 


MoxeT, 34eCb ene 6e340MHEH 

HM 6oabuet Aye 2*KHBON, 

Tak AW, H€T,— AOAXKHBI MbI NOMHUTh 
O ero cae3e CBATOH. 


Ecau 6 Ty cae3y pyKamu 

V3 Poccun goBeaoch 

Ha HeMeuKMM STOT KaMeHb 
Aouectu,— npoxraa 6 HacKBO3b. 


Cuet BeAHK, HAeT pactaata. 
Mi 3a tou 6oabmon crpagou 
He sa6yyemte, pebara, 


333 


And you must forget you're thirsty 
Though the beer is going free. 

Time won't even wait for those who've 
Occupied a brewery. 


Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, 
Leaving Russia in our rear, 

Fighting all the way, we forded 
Streams and brooks on the frontier. 


Now we’ve added up our losses 
And the-world can see the score 
Being settled. But to go back 

To our friend bereaved by war.... 


Where he is, there’s no real telling. 
Was he killed not long ago? 

Has a piece of lettered plywood 
Vanished under sifting snow? 


Or was he a third time wounded 
And laid up till he was fit? 

Was he on the field of battle 
With us when we took Tilsit? 


And as he was leaving Russia, 
Hurrying in the train of war, 
What he thought, I can’t imagine, 
Or what secret grief he bore. 


Or, more sick at heart than ever, 
Does he wish that he were dead? 
Either way, we should: remember 
All those bitter tears he shed. 


If one tear drop could be carried 
Out of Russia— only one — 

It would burn its way like acid 
Even through that German stone. 


Great the score that’s being settled, 
But, though harsh the cost we bore, 
Bear in mind the burden shouldered 


334 


BcnloMHHM K C4eTy Mpo coasata, 
UtTo ocTaaca CHpoTou. 


Tpo3en cue, crpauina pacmaata 
3a MHABOHBI AYU H TEA. 
YnaaTH—H ACAO CBATO, 

Ho sao6asok 3a CoAgata, 

Uto B BOHHE OCHpOTeA. 


JjaAeKO AW JO Bepauua, 

He canta, maraHZ, cMoAu,— 
Bapoe MeHbile NOAOBHHHI 
Tox Aoporn, aro or Kauna, 
Or Mockssl y2xke Npoman. 


ZleHb HAeT 34 HOUbI CACAOM, 
TloaBejeM UITHKOM depTy. 

Ho u B CBeETAHIM AeHb nNO6eAn 
BcnomuuM, OpaTun, 3a Secej0n 
IIpo coagata-cupory... 


335 


Bravely by our friend, the soldier 
Rendered homeless by the war. 


Grim the score and dread the vengeance, 
For those millions dead and gone. 

Settle up — the cause is sacred, 

But add extra for our comrade 

Whom the war left all alone. 


Is Berlin so far away now? 

Just keep moving, fag in mouth.... 

Scarce a quarter of the distance 

That you’ve marched from Klin, for instance, 
Or from Moscow further south. 


Day must follow night. Our bayonets 
Soon shall demarcate the line. 

Come the day of celebration, 

We'll recall in conversation 

That unhappy friend of mine 


336 


TiO AOPOTE HA BEPAHH 


Ilo aopore na bepauu 
Bpetca cept nyxX MepHH. 


IIposoga yMOAKIUMX AMHHH, 
BeTKu BEIMOKINMe AMT 

Ilyx nepHu MOBHA, Kak HHel, 
Ilo 60ptaM MaliMH HaAHn. 


Vi koaeca nyuiek, KyXOHb 

[pa3b M CHEF MellalOT C TyXxoM. 
AOMUTCA Ha WHHEAB 

C myxXoM MOKpaA METEAD... 


Cky4HbIt KAMMAT 3arpaHM4HblH, 

Uyx abi Kpalt KpaCHOKMprliv4Hbli, 
O BOWHa caMa co6oH, — 

Vs 3eMAA APOKHT NpUBEIIHO, 

XpycTKHi webeHb vepennyHblii 

-OTpAXxas C KpbII JOAOM... 


Martb-Poccwa, MbI MOACBeTa 
Y TBOUX MpOWAN KOAEC, 


iy/) 


‘J ; ¥ 4 


, lal I Ah ‘ 
og Pe ae 


s 


THE ROAD TO BERLIN 


All along the motorway, 
Feathers flying, thick and grey. 


Sticking to the telegraph cables 
And the boughs of dripping limes, 
Forming on the sides of lorries 
Like a coat of winter rime. 


Wheels of guns and kitchens grinding, 
Mud and snow with feathers blending... 
Rain and sleet all mixed with fluff, 
Greatcoats smothered in the stuff.... 


Foreign clime so miserable, 
Redbrick land interminable; 

But war’s old familiar sound 
Makes the earth, as usual, tremble, 
And the brittle roof-tiles tumble 
Crashing to the sodden ground... 


Mother Russia, at your wheels we’ve 
Trudged across a hemisphere, 


338 


Ilo3agu ocTaBuB rge-To 
Pek TBOMX pa34OAbHBIM MAEC. 


ZJoaro-goaro 3a 06030M 

B kpaii 4yKOm TAHYACA BCACA 
Beabii yBeT TBOeH Gepe3Et 
MB nyTu comea Ha HET. 


C Boarov, c apepHewo Mocxso1 
Kak ThI HbIHYe JaAeka. 

Mex ay Hamu 1 TO6O10D — 

Tp He HalllHX A3bIKa. 


Tlo3squuit qeub BcraeT He pyccKHii 
Haq HeMHAOH CTOpOHoON. 
Yepennunnil webeHb XPyCTKHH 
MOoKHeT B AyxKe Og cTeHOH. 


Bcway Hagnucu, OTMeTKH, 
CrpeakH, BbIBECKM, 3Ha4KH, 
Koablja NpOBOAOUHO CeTKH, 
aropogKu, ABEPIbI, KACTKH — 
Bce HapOudHO JAA TOCKKH... 


MatTb-3eMAA poduas Halla, 
B gun Oeabi MW B AHH NO6e4 
Het te6a cperaeii wu Kpaie 
Vs xeaanHeli cepguy HeT. 


Tlomplnraaa 0 COAgaTCKOH 
Henpeacka3aHHon cyaboe, 
Ajaxe Aeub B MorHAe OpaTcKoi 
Ayuuie, Kaketca, B Tebe. 


A Bcero MHAeH JO Aomy, 

Ao Tre6a AOHTH *KMBOMy, 
3aABHTbCA B Te Kpaa: 

— 3apancrayl, poauna mos! 


Bouu TgBon, cayra Hapoga, 
C 4ecTbO MOKeT JOAOKUTDH: 
Boepaa 4ertbipe roga, 


339 


And we’ve left your mighty rolling 
Rivers far behind somewhere. 


Following the transport convoys 

Trailed your birch-trees, gleaming white, 
Deep into this alien country, 

Dwindling until lost from sight. 


Far away now, with your Volga 
And the Kremlin’s ancient towers, 
You are separated from us 

By three languages not ours. 


It’s no Russian day, late dawning 
On this land that never smiles. 
By the wall, steeped in a puddle 
Lie the brittle, shattered tiles. 


Warning notices, inscriptions, 
Arrows, signposts everywhere; 
Chicken netting, prohibitions, 
Fences, cages, Bobs, restrictions — 
All conducive to despair. 


Motherland, in days of triumph 

Or in times of trouble dire, 

None’s more bright, more fair than you are, 
Nearer.to the heart’s desire. 


There’s no telling what the soldier’s 
Destiny will lead him to: 

Even if a grave fraternal, 

Let it be at least with you. 


But still better —to arrive 
All in one piece and alive, 
Saying on his safe return: 
“Greetings, land where I was born!” 


And your soldier, people’s servant, 
May report, conscience at ease, 
That he’s had four years’ campaigning, 


340 


Bopotuaca “3 Moxoga 
Vs Temepb *KeAaeT XKUTD. 


OH MCHOAHHA AOAT BO CAaBy 
Boesbrx TBOHX 3HaMEH. 

KTo euje HMeeT 1paBo 

Tax aw6ntTp Te6a, Kak ou! 


JleHb 4 HOU B 608x CMeHAR, 
B mMecaly manmkH He CHHMaA, 
BouH TBO, 3allJHTHHK-CbhIH, 
Ilea, chemma K Te6e, poanan, 
Ilo gopore na bepaunu... 


Ilo Aopore HeMuny4en 

Ilyx nepuu Kay6utca Tyyeii. 
Topogos ropeabli AOM 
TlaxHeT naaeHbimM Tepom. 


VW nog rpoxoT KaHonaAbl 

Ha BOCTOK, M3 MIAbI MH CMpada, 
Kak 3 a4OBbIX BOpOT, 

BaAOAb mocce TeYeT Hapod. 


IlorpaceHHbl, OMaAeHHBI, - 
Bcex KpoBeii, pa3HOMAeMeHHBIi, 
Toppkui, BbIOUHbIM, NeW AtoZ... 
Ha BOcTOK— OHH MapupyT. 


Ha BOCTOK, CKBO3b AbIM H KONOTS, 
V3 OAHOHK TIOPbMBI rAyxon 

Ilo gomam ugeT Espona. 

Ilyx nmepun nag Hew nyprod. 


Vi wa pyccxoro coagaTa 
bpat panuy3, 6putavey 6par, 
bpat moaak u BCe NoApAA 

C apyx6oH 6yaTo BuHOBaTON, 
Ho cepgedHow ran dat. 


Ha 6e3BecTHOM nepeKpectke 
Ha kKaKkoH-To BCTpeuHbI MAT — 


341 


Hardly grumbling or complaining, 
And he wants to live in peace. 8 


To the glory of your colours 

He has rendered honour due. 

Who, then, has more right than he has 
To bestow his love on you? 


Days and nights in battle spending, 
Hat on head for weeks unending, 
Your defender, warrior son, 

Has been hurrying to greet you 
Down the long road to Berlin.... 


All along that road fly swirling 
Clouds of feathers, dancing, whirling.. 
And the rubble in each town 

Reeks of burning fluff and down. 


Eastward, while the big guns boom, 
Out of dismal murk and gloom 
As from Hell’s gates, people crowd 
Streaming down along the road; 


Of all races and extractions, 
Grimy, driven to distraction, 
Bitter, burdened, and on foot, 
Heading east —their only route. 


Heading east, through soot and smoke-clouds, 
From one prison dungeon fled, 

Europe is dispersing homewards. 

Storm of feathers overhead. 


Brother Briton, Brother Frenchman, 
Brother Pole, and all the rest 

Seem to look towards the Russian 
Almost as if with contrition, 

But in open friendliness. 


Brief encounter at some crossroads — 
No one knows exactly where — 


342 


CaMu TAHYTCA K IIpH4ecKe 
Pyku AeBylleK HEMBIX. 


Vi of Tex peueit, yani6ox 
3aAMT KpaCKOW CaM COAAaT: 
Bot Espona, a cnacu60 
Bce mo-pyccKu roBopaT. 


Ou crTonT, ocBo6o4guTeAb, 

Ha6oxk ulatika co 3Be340H. 

A, MOA, 4TO K, MOMOUb AIOGUTEAB, 
A HacueT TOrO MpocToH. 

Moa, Takax cayx6a Halla, 
IIpounm aaram He B yiipek... 


— Du, a TH Ky4a, Mamaia? 
— A Tyd4a *,— AOMOH, ChIHOK. 


B uyxkune, B NyTH Aaaeye, 

B necrpom c6opuije Aj ACcKOM 
Bapyr CAOBa pO4AHMOH pen, 
baOxa B uty6e, c MOCOLIKOM. 


CrapocTb Bpoge, 4a He APAXAOCTb 
B Ty KOTOMKy BIIpAxKena. 
Ilo-4opoxxHomy KpecT-HakpecT 
Bca MAaTKOM OMAeTeHa. 


Ilo3qopopaaach Mf BCTAaAa, 
Semanky-Goluy 04 cTaTp, 
ZlepeBencxan, Tipoctaa 
Hawa TpykeHHa-MaTb. 


MatTb CBATOM H3Be4HOH CHAK, 
V3 OeapecTHbIx MaTeped, 

YUtTo B Tpyae HeH3HOCHMBI, 
Vs aw6on SOege cBoen; 


YtTo cyab6o0, nopTopexHoi 
Ha 3emAe CTO pa3 nogpag, 

VW pactat B A6su 6eccoHHon, 
Vs Tepsiort Hac, coagart; 


‘ee 


- 11) mae : 


4 - 
\ 


“an 


343 


And the girls, though shy of speaking, 
Lift their hands to pat their hair. 


At each friendly word of greeting, 
Our boy blushes like a rose. 

This is Europe, but spasibo 

Is a word all Europe knows. 


There he stands, the liberator, 
Hat, with star, somewhat askew: 
“Glad to help in times of trouble, 
Glad to lend a hand to you. 

No reflections on the Allies, 

Just the service we lay on....” 


‘Where d’you think you’re going, then, Ma?” 
“That way. Home, of course, my son!” 


In the milling throng of people 
Deep inside that alien land, 

It’s a Russian woman speaking, 

Well wrapped up, with staff in hand. 


Old, perhaps, but not decrepit; 
Harnessed in a shoulder pack; 
For the rigours of the journey, 
Shawl tied crossways, front and back. 


Up she gets with words of greeting, 
And our men look on with pride— 
Just an ordinary woman 

From the Russian countryside. 


Full of life, indomitable, 

One of all the nameless mums 
Tireless in their work, undaunted 
By whatever trouble comes. 


She who, down the generations, 
Has done what she can, and more, 
Sacrificing all to rear us, 

Losing us in time of war. 


344 


Vs xXHBYT, H pyK He CAOKAT, 

He COMKHYT CBOMX Oued, 

Koab HyKHbI ele, ObITbh MOXKET, 
BuykKaM BMECTO CbIHOBeH. 


MatTb ofHa B 4uyxK6nHe rae-To! 
— fjaaeKo au AO ABopa? 

— Jo aBopa? ABopa-To uerTy, 
A cama u3-3a AHempa... 


Cro, pe6ata, He roqutca, 
Uro6nl stTak C MOCOMIKOM 

Iilaa AOMOH H3-3a rpaHHiEl 
MaTb COAAZaTCKaA MeIKOM. 


Hert, poguas, No nopaAaKy 
{jai HaM AeAaTb, He Meal. 
Ileppo-wanepBo aomaaky 
C noanoi cOpye noayyait. 


Tloayuai 9KMMMpOBKy, 

Horn KOBpukKoOM yxKpoH. 

A enye Tebe KopoBK 

Bmecte C NpHgaHHou OBLON. 


B nyTb-gopory qaiHuk C Kpyxkoit 
Aja BeAepKo npo sanac, 

Ala mepunny, Aa noayuiKy,— 
Hemily 8 TATOCTb, HaM Kak pa3... 


— Hu x uemy. Kyaa, poaunie?— 
A pe6aTa— HyxK4AH HET — 
BOAOKyT 4aChl CTEHHBIE 

U seayT Beaocuneg. 


— Hy, npouyak. Cuactanso exatb!— 
UTo-TO CHAHTCA CKa3aTb 

Vs 3akalllAnAach OT CMexa, 

ToaoBou KauaeT MaTb. 


— Kak xe, AeTKH, NyTb He GAM3KH. 
Bapyr 3aaepxat rae MeHa: 


345 


Never resting for a minute, 

Kept awake from dusk till dawn, 

Just in case their grandsons need them, 
et alone the sons they’ve borne! 


Stranded in a foreign country! 
“Where’s your home, Mum? Is it far?” 
“Me, I’m from beyond the Dnieper, 
But my home its there no more.” 


“Hold it, fellers! This won’t do, now — 
Soldier’s mother, staff in hand, 
Leaving like this on the homeward 
Journey from a foreign land. 


“No, you needn’t interfere, Ma! 

We can fix you up real good. 

First of all, you take this horse here, 
Harnessed ready for the road. 


“Next, you'll need some gear and tackle. 
This here travelling rug should do, 

And this cow — might come in handy — 
And — seconded — one small ewe. 


“Mug and teapot for the journey, 
And a pail, so don’t complain! 
Here’s a mattress, here’s a pillow: 
Fritz’s loss can be our gain....” 


“Boys! I don’t need all that luggage! 

What would I want those things for?” 
But they're bringing her a wall-clock, 
And a bicycle, what's more! 


“Cheerio, Ma! Pleasant journey!” 
Then she tries to speak, instead 
Nearly chokes herself with laughing, 
And again she shakes her head. 


“It’s a long. long way I’m going. 
They could stop me suddenly. 


346 


Hu 3anvckn, HM pacnHcKu 
He ume Ha KOHA. 


— Ts 06 9TOM He HWedaAbca, 
Iloe3xai 4a moe3Kai, 

UtTo KacaeTcA HayvaAbCTBa,— 

CsBoit y scex nepeaHuit Kpaii. 


Iloesaal, KaTH, 4TO C rOpKH, 

A CAyYHTCA 4TO-HHO6y Ab, 

To ckaxku, He no3abyAb: 

Moa, cHa6ana Bacuani Tepxun,— 
VU re6e cpo6ogen nyt. 


byjeM KBE, B 3aqHenposbe 
3apepHeM Ha MMporn. 


— lah rocnogb te6e 340 POBbA 
Vor nyan c6epern... 


{Jaaeko, AOAKHO OnITH, FAe-TO 
EgeT ubinye 6a6xa 97a, 
IIpasur, INYPHTCA OT CAe3. 
Mc 6oxos goporu y3Koi, 

Ha 3emae eye He pyccxoh — 
Beabtii BeT poAHbrx Gepes. 


AX, Kak pafocTHo u 60AbHO 
BugetTb ux B Kpato uHoM!.. 


Tlorpanw4npiit MOCT KOHTPOAbHBIii 
IIponycru ee c Kone! 


347 


What about the horse? No permit; 
Got no paper signed on me!” 


“Don’t you fret about that permit. 
Just keep going. Just press on. 
Never mind about the Army — 
They’ve got problems of their own. 


“Just you keep old Dobbin walking, 
And no harm come to you. 

Don’t forget —the thing to do 

Is to say Vassili Tyorkin 

Fixed you up—and you'll get through! 


“All being well down by the Dnieper 
We'll drop in for pies one day.” 


“May God grant you health and safety, 
May no bullet come your way....” 


Blinking back her tears, the old lady 
Is well on her way, maybe, 

Riding on. To left and right 

Of the narrow roadway, rustling 

In this land that’s not yet Russian — 
Dear old birch-trees, shining white! 


Oh, how bitter-sweet to see them 
In a land that isn’t yours!... 


Guards on duty at the checkpoint, 
Let her through—complete with horse! 


348 


B BAHE 


Ha oxoanye BoHHEI— 

B ray6une TepmManun— 
Bana! Uto tam CaHAyHbt 
C ocraabHiimu 6aHamu! 


Ha ayx6nHe orgquit Aom— 
bana HatypaabHaa. 

Ilo nopagky nospegem 
Hauty peas noxpaabnyio. 


ZJoM AM, 34MOK, BCe paBHO, 
fleao 6e306maHHoe: 
Banunit map 3anec OKHO 
TleaeHou TyMaHHow. 


Cryaba rpadcxue croat 
BaoAb creubl B npeaGaHHHKe. 
CHAA MOAUITaHHHKM COAAaT, 
Aoxypua 6e3 naHnKn. 


Ajoxypua, py6axy c maey 
aUJHT Yepe3 TOAOBY. 


THE BATHS 


Deep in war-swept Germany, 
Russian baths —oh, brothers!— 
You can keep your Sanduny’* 
Same as any others! 


Genuine bath-house— home from home, 
Here in foreign places. 

Let us therefore with one voice 

Duly sing its praises. 


Home or castle — it’s all one; 

No deceit, that’s certain: 
Bath-house window hid by steam 
As if by a curtain. 


And His Excellency’s chairs 
Wait the soldier’s pleasure. 
Now he takes his aiauers off, 
Smokes his fag at leisure. 


&) 


Vest comes next, over his head, 
Up from off his shoulders. 

* A reference to the famous Sandunovsky Baths in 
Moscow.— Tr. 


350 


IIpo coagata B 6aHe peub,— 
TloraagumM Ha roaoro. 


Heppicox, 4a rpygb sreped 
VB KOCTH Hage*KeH. 
Teaom 6ea,— KoTOphIit roy 
Saropaa B Ofex*xe. | 


VU xorTb HeT cefiuac Ha HEM 
@MopMeHHBIX peraani, 

Uro 3HakOM COAAaT C OFrHeM, 
Cpaszy 6 yraqaan. 


Tloqusuaucn 6p cupocta, 
YUtTo octTaacw WeAbIM. 
IIpuneyatana 3Be34a 

Ha »«MBOM, Ha 6eAoM. 


Heposua, 3aTo Kpacna, 
BrpaMb NOd cTaTb Harpade, 
Ilycrb He cnepequ ona,— 
Ha aonatTKe c3adan. 


C roaOBbI AO HOF M€EABKOM 
Ocmotpetb aTaeta: 

Tam euje py6ey crpyyKom, 
‘TaM MHaav MeTa. 


SHaKH, TOUHO NMCbMeHa 

IlaMaTHow cTpaHuupl. 

pt wu Eabua, u /Jecna, 
poaHas cropoHa 

B crpoxy c 3arpanuyeit. 


CTOAbKO BepCT M CTOABKO Bex, 
He 3a6niITb uHyt. 

Ho pa3geaca 4eaoBek, 

Tak M4eT B MapHyn. 


OH wet, HO Kak HZeT, 
IIpocaequm cTopouKoi: 
‘Tak crymaetT, TOUHO Aeg 
Ilog Horamu ToHKHE; 


351 


Now let’s have a look at him, 
Our stark-naked soldier. 


Medium height but chest well out; 
Body's clean uprightness 
By four years in uniform 
Tanned to lily-whiteness. 


And, although by now he’s shed 
All his rand regalia, 

Still, with action you can tell 
He’s not unfamihar. 


And you'll simply be amazed 
That he could survive it— 
On the naked skin, a star 
Flaming bright and livid, 


Like a medal that he’s won, 
And he always wears it, 

Only it’s his shoulder-blade, 
Not his chest, that bears it. 


Quickly, then, from top to toe 
Look our athlete over. 

Here’s a scar shaped like a pod, 
And here’s yet another. 


Like a hieroglyph, each scar 

Tells a different story. 

See them — Yelnya, the Desna 
And his home ground, next to far 
Alien territory. 


What each mile he marched was like, 
He needs no reminding. 

To the steam room now he goes, 
Leaves his clothes behind him. 


In he walks, but how he walks, 
Watch with due discretion: 

As if treading on thin ice, 
Seems the right expression. - 


352 


byATo AeaaeT C Tpy4omM 

ar—M¥ HeIIpeMeHHO: 
— Yx, Th! —KpaKaeT, IIpHTOM 
Illyputca OaaKeHHo. 


Tosop, maeck, Beceablit rya, 
Kanaw C MOTHBIX CBOJOB... 
Mert, pykv 1potanys, 
IIpexae nap, 4em Body. 


Tlap 60gaeT B NOTOAOK. 
Hy-ka, C xogy Ha NOAOK! 


B *KM3HH MHpHOK MAH OpaHHo:, 
Y aw6oro py6bexa, 

baarodapuHbl Aacke 6aHHOl 
Haure Treao u Ayia. 


Huuero, uTo TH npApogsoii 
Campi pyccKHit 4eaosek, 
A Gepemb Aaa 6aHu Boay 
V3 4yKux, JaAeCKHX pek. 


Muoro xyxke JAA 340poBba, 
Ilo 3uMe an, MO BecHe, 
Bosae peuek IloamMockosBba 
MbITbcaA B GaHe Ha BOHHE. 


— Hy-ka TH, nCKOBCKOH, eraeyKnit 
Mab eye Kako 3EMAAK, 
SayepnHH BOA HEMeL|KOH 

Ala, yBaxkb, NAeCHH YepmaK. 


He xaaeH, 406aBb Ha NeHHHT, 
A Teflepb MoraaguTb UIBBI 
Aaiite, XAONUbI, pyCccKHH BeHHK, 
Ajaxe ecau on c AnTBBI. 


UectTb u cAaBa NOMMOXO3y, 
CuapaxaBlutemy 0603, 

Uro copercxyw G6epe3y 
Ax 3a Kenurc6epr 3ases. 


353 


It’s an effort, every step, 

As he enters, mincing. 
“Ouch!” he yelps at every step, 
Rapturously wincing. 


Chatter, splashing, cheerful din; 
Drips drop from the ceiling... 
Not for water, but for steam, 
Hands outstretched, he’s feeling. 


Billowing steam-clouds butt the roof. 
On your shelf, lad —that’s the stuff! 


Whether peace or war is reigning, 
At whatever frontier line, 

Soul and body love the comforts 
Of a bath at any time. — 


What’s it matter, though you may be 
Russian to the very core — , 
Distant alien river waters 

For a bath you'll gladly draw. 


They're less healthy for your system 
In the winter or the spring — 
Baths beside the streams round Moscow 
When the war is in full swing. 


Now, then, you from Pskov, or Yelnya, 
Or wherever it may be, 

Fill the scoop with German water, 
Mind you splash it liberally! 


One more pfennig-worth this way, please, 
And to iron the seams out, man, 

Use that Russian birch-switch even 
Though it’s Lithuanian. 


To the thoughtful Quartermaster 

Who brought from beyond and through 
Konigsberg, those Russian switches — 
Render praise and honour due! 


354 


Su, caaBpanue, uTo c Ky6aun, 
C Jjoua, c Boarn, c Aptsima, 
3aHuMait BBICOTHI B OaHe, 
Sakpenaaiica He cneumia! 


Zjo TOTO, Apy3bA, OTAM4HO 
‘Tak-TO BCAaCTb, He TOPOTIACh, 
IlapHTb BeHHKOM NIpHBBIMHbIM 
3arpaHH4HbI MOT UM rpAsb. 


Ilap Ha cAaBy, MOAOJCLIKHH, 
Moxphim 40cKaM ropayo. 
Hy-ka, rae TH, Apyr eAeuKHH, 
Kuub rBapfevicxyno eye! 


KuHb ele, a Mbl OCBOHM 
C npexHet gaye 3a0AHo. 
Bor Tenepb criacu60, BoHH, 
Orgpixait. Tenepp — oxo! 


Kro He Hale NOATOTOBKH, 
Toro c NOAy Ha MOAOK 

He BCTAHYTb UM Ha BepeBKe,— 
PasBe TOAbKO 4epe3 BAOK. 


Tyr aw6ou crapuk Mo6uTeas, 
CyHbCA TOABKO, KaK HH pbAH, 
boabme ABYX MHHYT He KHTEeAb, 
A MW KHT€EAB— HE POAHTeAb, 
Tlotomy He 4acT CeMAH. 


Het, ky4a, Kyda, ky4a Tam, 

XOTb KOMY, KOMy, KOMY 

bpatsca NapuTbca C COAgaTOM,— 
Tanke 4YepTy CaMOMy. 


IlycTb OH %XMAOBATHIM NapeHs, 
{ja TakKHMM BPAY AM OH, 

Kak COAAaT, KapaMyv *KapeH 
VW mMoposamu even. 


Ilycrb ou, B o6uleM, TepTEii Maabli, 
XOTb NOHATHO, YepTa HET, 


355 


Hey you, Slavs all, from the Volga, 
The Kuban, Don and Irtysh — 
Occupy the bath-house heights and 
Get dug in. You needn’t rush! 


It’s the height of joy and pleasure 
When youre free to take your time 
Purging with the good old birch-twigs 
Foreign sweat and foreign grime. 


Clouds of steam in goodly measure, 
And the dri pin planks are hot. 

Now then, fren of mine from Yelnya, 
Send us up another lot! 


Give us more, and we can take it 
With the lot you sent before! 

That’s the ticket! Thank you, soldier. 
Have a rest. No need for more. 


He who hasn’t had our training 
Won't climb easily up here. 

Since a rope will hardly help him, 
Better get some hoisting gear. 


If some connoisseur and expert 
Drops in—hardy though he be— 
He won't stick it out, or rather 

If he does, he’ll be no father, 
He'll be seedless presently! 


No, it’s useless, useless, useless 
For a stranger in this place 
Vying with a soldier: even 
Satan couldn’t stand the pace! 


He won’t have been, like our soldier, 
(Though he may be strong as most) 
Fried in many a summer _heatwave, 
Baked in many a winter frost. 


There’s no Satan, naturally; 
But, although our guest is tough, 


356 


{ja nogn coda, NoxaayH, 
Tak y3Haeulb, rye TOT CBeT. 


Ha nmoaké, MOAKé, 4TO TeCaH 
Mactepamu Ha BoHue, 
XOAMT BEHHK 2KapKHM YeCOM 
Ilo MaAHHOBOHM CIIHHe. 


YUeaosexk MoeT H CTOHET, 
TIpocut: 

— Tyme unarnetait— 
CTOHET, CTOHET, a HE AOHAT: 


— Ajai! Aan! Aan! Jai! 


He gonmapuTsca B OxoTy, 

B mepy Teaa Aaa 6otya— 
Bce paBHo, 4TO HeMija C xOAy 
He aoaeaaTb JO KOHL. 


Her, Tecnu ero, 4ro6 Bckope 
ONpoKHHyTb HaB3HH4b B Mope, 
A KOTOpHIi Ha 3eMAe — 
VcTOAO4b 2KHBbEM B «KOTAe>. 


Vi 3a Bcw BowHy BHepsHe — 
Hemya HeT nepeg Toboit. 
B uectb noGeah orHeBnie 
IpanyT caegom 3a Mocxsoi. 


TpanetT 3aAn MHororoaocniit, 
Saraymian WyM BOAHBI. 

VM snmomaw CTBOAB, KOAeCa 
Ha apyrou Koney BowHnl. 


C necne TpOHYAMCbh KOAOHHBI 
He B nocaegnuit aM noxo,? 
VW saagoubyw 3anblAeHHon 

Cam coagaT cae3y yTper. 


KTO-TO CBHCTHET, TMKHET KTO-TO, 

pycte pacTaeT, Kak AbIMOK. 
BOHHa— He Ta pa6boTa, 

Ecau pa3AHvK HeAaAeK. 


357 


Let him try it here—he’ll find out 
Just where Hell is soon enough! 


On the bunk, rough-hewn by wartime 
foiners with a craftsman’s knack, 

ee the birch-twigs fiercely flicking 
Up and down the purple back. 


And the victim, howling, moaning, 
Never ceases to implore: 

“Harder! Harder!” Then, unsated: 
“More! More! Moret More!” 


Not to get a thorough steaming 
Till his body’s had enough, 

Is like harassing the Germans 
Without finishing them off! 


No, let’s press him hard, till he 
Tumbles back into the sea. 
Roast the ones that still survive 
In their jerry-pots alive. 


It’s the first time that you haven't 
Found the Germans in your way. 
After Moscow, hear the fireworks 
Thunder out for victory. 


Hear the salvo’s many voices 

Drowning out the ocean’s roar. 

Yes, our wheels and guns have travelled 
To the far end of the war. 


Now the columns move off, singing; 
One more push before the end: 
And the soldier rubs a tear off 
With a grimy, dusty hand. 


Someone’s whistling, someone’s whooping; 
Misery melts like smoke in air. 

War’s a very different story 

With the celebrations near. 


358 


U soiina—ue Ta pa6ora, 
AcHo AaxKe mpoctaky, 

Ecanw 0 TpH caMoAeTa 

B NOMOIMb MpHAaHo UITHIKy. 


Vue Te kak 6yaTo Alwyn, 

VY Bo BCeM HMHaA CTAaTb, 

Ecav TaHKOB MW OpyAuih— 
Caepx Toro, 4TO Here CTaTb. 


Craa cHAe J0Ka3aaa: 

Cnaa CHAe — He pOBHA. 

EcTb MeTaAA TIpouHeH MeTaAAa, 
EcTb OroHb CTpauiHei orna! 


Bawt bepanny y 3acTasbl 
Cyqaupimi aac yacht MOcKBHI... 


A loKaMeCcT cyg 4a cnpapa— 
IIponorea coagaT Ha CAaBy, 
KOcTb Nporpea, pa3sraaqvaA IIB, 
Hosni c Hor JO FTOAOBbI— 

VW cae3ai, Konya 3aG0asy... 


A BHH3y — HHO yi0T, 

B aymeson w BaHHOH 
SaBpepiaeT ToAbli MOA 
banubit Tpyd *KeAaHHblii. 


Tor ymapHacs, a TOT 
bopetca c HcToMon. 

Homep tepBniit cimHy TpeT 
Homepy sTopomy. 


ToT, M€xaHHK HM 3HaTOK, 

Y cBeTija XAOMOYET, 

TOT MakyillKy. MBIAMT BIIpOK, 
ToT MO30AH MOUHT; 


ToT mAaToueK HOCOBOH, 
Cao Tpodelt kapMaHHHii, 
MoeT MbIAbHOW BOJOH, 
AjapMosow OaHHOH. 


359 


War’s a very different story, 
As the veriest fool could guess, 
If each bayonet has the backing 
Of three aeroplanes, no less. 


And the men are also different, 
And the scene is altered now. 
Guns and tanks galore — just try to 
Find the space for them somehow! 


Strength has given strength a lesson: 
Strength and strength are not the same. 
There is metal outlasts metal, 

There is flame more dread than flame. 


Now the Kremlin bells are chiming 
Judgement’s hour before Berlin.... 


While the fated hour is coming, 

See our soldier, body shining, 

Warmed right through and smooth of skin, 
Brighter than a brand-new pin. 

Now he’s finished, down he's climbing.... 


And below, another joy — 
Choice of shower or bath-tub, 
And the naked soldiers all 
Give themselves a last rub. 


This one’s boiled alive; his mate 
Flops exhausted, drooping. 
Number One gives Number Two’s 
Back a thorough rubbing. 


One, an expert, mends the light, 
Fiddling and poking. 

This one soaps his hair, that one 
Gives his corns a soaking. 


One is laundering in the suds, 
Free of charge and gratis, 

Much prized booty seized in war — 
One small hankie, that is. 


360 


Hy, a Halll CA€rKa OCTHIA 

VW — kxoner aexkanke. 

B malike neny HapacTna, 
O6pa6oraa MpouT u ThIA, 
He 3a6nla po daanru. 


BicTpo CAagWA C OCTAAbHBIM, 
O6aaaca WM BBIACS. 

Vs HeEBOAbHO BCAe€dA 34 HAM 
Bce NOTOpOnmMAKCE. 


He 3atTem, 4T06 On CTOAA 
Bure B CMBICAe 4HHa, ~~ 
A 3aTeM, 4TO *KH3HH Aaa 
Ha moake MyK4HHa. 


Aw6uT pyccKHi 4eAoBeK 
ITpa3qHuk CHAB BCAKHH, 
OtTtToro uw xaelje BCcex | 
On 8 Tpyde uM Apake. 


Vi B npHBaruke y Hero 
V34aBHa, H3Be4HO 

3a AHXOE yAaAbCTBO 
YpaxKaTb CepAeyHo. 


Vc nmoatenbem BCe raAAJAT, 
Kak onsaTb 6€3 1aHHKH 

He cnema HageA COAAaT 
Hosnle NOAWTaHHMKH. 


He cnewmia Hagea WTaHb 

VM smoutu 4To HOBIE, 

C TOUKH 3peHbA CTapIHHBbI, 
Canorn KMp30Bble. 


B ruMHacTepky BAe€3 COAAAT, 

A Ha rMMHacTepKe — 

Opgena, Mefaav B pag 
apKMM I1AaMeHeM LOpAart... 


— 3akynMa ux, TO AH, 6parT, 
Pa30M B BOeHTOpre? 


ry 


361 


Well, our man’s cooled off down there; 
End of loafing’s pleasure, 

And the soap he doesn’t spare, 
Operates on front and rear, 

Flanks, too, for good measure. 


And the rest is quickly done— 
Rinse, then through the doorway. 
For some reason, all the rest 
Follow in a hurry. 


Not because our friend can boast 
Higher rank or station, 

But because his conduct’s been 
Quite an inspiration. 


Russians love a show of strength: 
Puts them on their mettle 

In the daily round of work, 

In the heat of battle. 


Ever since the days of old, 
Grit and resolution 

Have inspired our people with 
Heartfelt admiration. 


With respect they watch our friend 
As, quite unconfounded, 

He puts on a pair of drawers 
Clean and freshlv laundered. 


Then he dons his trousers, then 
Pulls his boots on, dawdling. 
(Sergeant-Major calls them new, 
Though they're like tarpaulin.) 


Next he pulls his tunic on, 
And the tunic, dropping, 
Shines with medals, every one 
Flashing as if in the sun.... 


army Store goods,” says someone. 
“You been round there shopping?” 


362 


ToT CTOHT BO BCeH Kpace, 
3aHAT CaMOKpyTKOH. 

— 9ro uto! Emme ue sce,— 
MetuT WyTKoH B LIyTKy. 


— Aro60-goporo. A rae *« 

Te, MOA, OCTAaAbHHEIe?.. 

— Tye nocaequun cao py6ex 
ZlepxuT HeMell HBIHE. 


VW egBa lIpocTMaca OH, 

Kak OoHubI B BOCTOpre 
Bcaegq B340XHyAH: 

— Hy, cnaen! 

— Bce pasuo, uro Tepxun. 


363 


In his glory, there he stands;- 
Rolls a gasper, grinning. 
“Chicken feed!” he answers back. 
“That’s just the beginning!” 


“Fine and dandy! May we ask 
Where you'll get the others?” 
“Why, where Jerry’s lining up 
For his last stand, brothers!” 


Hardly has he said good-bye — 
Hear the buzz of talking! 

“He’s a tough un, that!” they sigh. 
“Every inch a Tyorkin!” 


364 


OT ABTOPA 


«CBeTHT Me€CAL, HOUb ACHA, 
Yapka BBINHTa JO Axa...» 


Tepkuu, Tepkux, B CaMoM Jeane, 
Yac HwactTaa, potuHe oT6on. 

VM xak 6yaro ycrapeau 

Totuac o6a mu c ToGo. 


Mi xax 6yATo orayweHHEt 

B HactynmBmei THUIHHE, 
CMOAKHYA A, MeBell CMYWJCHHBIH, 
IleTh npuBiikmuit Ha Bote. 


B tom Geant oco6ort HeTy: 
Ilecua, ctaao 6niTb, Jonerta. 
Ilecua HoBaa HyxKua, 
Jjaiite CpOK, IIpHAeT ona. 


Al cKa3aTb XOTeA HHO, 

Moi autatean, apyr u 6part, 
Kak Bcerda, Tepeg To6o10 
A, AOAKHO G6nITh, BHHOBAT. 


—_— eg he . 


bi ws DEPANtYS 


‘7 


Ss. 


| 


ANH 
————w 138 ome tiene 


i! 


=, 


FROM THE AUTHOR 


“Clear bright night, moon in the sky, 
And we’ve drained the goblet dry.” * 


Tyorkin, Tyorkin, well and truly 
as the war come to an end. 

You and I all of a sudden 

Seem outdated now, my friend. 


Deafened by the eerie silence 
After what nas been before, 
Silent am I too, a singer, 
Used to singing in the war. 


There’s no harm in that whatever. 
It may be my lay is over. 

Now we need another song; 

Wait, and it will come along. 


But, dear reader, friend, and brother, 
I had something else to say, 
And, as usual, it may be I’ve 
Failed you in a kind of way. 


*An echo from Pushkin’s Songs of the Western Slavs.— Tr. 


366 


boabure 6 mor, 4a Os1ao kK crexy, 
Tem, O4Hako, AOpoxKn, 

YTO, CAyYaAOCh, Bpad AAA CMexy, 
Hunoraga He Araa AAA AK. 


M1, mo copectu, nopow 

Cam B340XHYA HE pa3, He JBa, 
Tlostopus caoBa repos, 

To ectb TepkuHa CAoBa: 


«A He TO elje CKa3aA 651,— 
IIpo ce6s no6epery. 

A He Tak ele chirpaa 641,— 
+Kadb, YTO AyUe HE MOTy». 


VM sxors uupie sewn 

B rogbl MMpa y neBua 

BuliAyT, MOxKeT 6bITb, MOXAee 
Oro KHuru npo 6oiua,— 


Mue ona Bcex mpounx 6oae 
Alopora, pogHa Ao caes3, 

Kak TOT CbIH, YTO pOc HE B xOAe 
A B roguny beg u rpos... 


> 


C nepspix AHeH TrOAMHbl TOpHKOH, 
B TAKKHH 4aC 3EMAM POAHOH, 

He wyta, Bacnanit Tepxuu, 
Tloapy2xHAHCcb MBI Cc TOGOH. 


A 3a6bITb TOTO He Blipape, 
Yem TBoet o6n3aH CAaBe, 
UYem urge NoMor THI MHe, 
Tloscrpeyapuincb wa BofiHe, 


Or Mocks, oT Craanurpaga 
Heu3MeHHOo TH CO MHOH — 
Boab MOA, MOA oTpaJa, 
OtTgbrx MOH uM nogzBur moi! 


OTH CTpOKH u CTpaHHiyp — 
Ale uw Bepcr oco6niit cyer, 


367 


I'd sing more, if time permitted; 
But at least due notice take: 

If I fibbed for fun, I never 
Merely lied for lying’s sake. 


There were moments when I sadly 
Heaved a sigh, or two, or three, 
Echoing words my hero uttered, 
Letting Tyorkin speak for me: 


“I would say a lot more, really, 
But I'll keep it hid from you. 

I would play much better, truly — 
It’s the best that I can do.” 


Though in times of peace, the poet 
May to other themes incline ~ 

More compelling and more trenchant 
Than this soldier’s tale of mine — 


Him I love above all others: 

He’s my dearest child, no less, 
Like a son reared not in comfort, 
But in times of storm and stress. 


From the first days of affliction 
In the homeland’s hour of grief, 
You and I, Vassili Tyorkin, 
Bosom friends became for life. 


I would never dare forgo you, 
There is so much that I owe you, 
So much that ’m grateful for 
Since we first met in the war. 


Yes, from Stalingrad, from Moscow, 
With me all the way were you— 
All my joy, grief, consolation, 

And my rt ed of derring-do! 


Words, lines, pages in due order 
Tell the story, day by day, 


368 


Kak OT 3amaqHoW rpaHuusl 

jo cBoet pogHouw CTOAMUBbI, 

VI of Tow pogHOU CTOAMIBI 
Bcnatb go 3anagqHonw rpaHuMipl, 
A oT 3amaqHouw TpaHHupl 
BnAOTb AO BpaxKeCKOW CTOAMUbI 
Mb CBOM ACAaAM MOXOZ. 


CMbIAH BeCHBI TOPbKMH Menler 
OuaroB, 4TO rpeaAn Hac. 

C Kem # He ObIA, C KEM A HE NMA 
B nepBbift pa3, B MOCAeAHHM pas... 


C KeM A TOADKO He OBIA Apy2KeH 
C nepso spcrpeun 6AM3 OFHA. 
CKOABKMM Ayam ObIA A HYy2KeH, 
be3 KOTOpBIX HeT MeHA. 


CKOABKHX HX Ha CBeTe HETY, 
Uro npowan Te6a, moar, 
CaoBHo 6eqHOoK KHure 9TOK 
MuHoro, MHOFO, MHOFO ACT. 


M1 cka3aTb, MOMBICAMB 34paBo: 
Uro et 6y4yuran caaBa! 


Uo eH KPHTHK, YMHHK TOT, 
Yro untaeT 6e3 yani6xu, 
Umer, HeT an rae oum6Kn,— 
Tope, ecanw He HalizerT. 


He 0 Tom c Hagexgon caaaKon 

A MeuTaa, Korga yKpaqKor 

Ha soitne, n04 KpoBAeH WaTKoN, 

Ilo goporam, rge II PHINAOCB, 

Be3, OTAYaKH OT KOAEC, 

B AOKAb, YKPbIBLUHCbh MAalj-MaAaTKoH, 
Mab sy6amMu CHAB TlepyaTKy 

Ha BeTpy, B AIOTOH MOpoOS, 

SaHOCHA B CBOIO TeTpagky 

Crpoxu, «uBIMe Bpa36poc. 


369 


How from that far Western border 
Almost up to Moscow city, 

Then away from Moscow city 

Back towards the Western border 
And from that far Western border 
To the German capital city — 

You were with me all the way. 


Spring has washed away the ash of 

Fires that warmed us in the past. 

Many are those I stayed with, drank with, 
For the first time and the last. 


Many a soldier I befriended 
Round the fire m company. 
Many a soul was grateful to me 
Without them, where would I be? 


And so many read you, poet, 

Who aren’t with us any more, 

That this book might have been written 
Many, many years before. 


And, as common sense would claim, 
What care.I for future fame? 


Or the critic, captious one, 

He who reads it all unsmiling, 
Tries to find some fault or failing, 
And is sorry if there’s none. 


Not of glory was I dreaming 

If the honest truth be told, 

When, beneath some shattered, leaning 
Cabin roof, all gashed and holed, 

While the endless transports rolled — 

In my groundsheet, downpour streaming, 
Or, glove in my teeth, breath steaming, 
In the wind, in bitter cold, 

There I wrote, and let the teeming 
Substance of my tale unfold. 


370 


Al MeaTaa O cylljeM uyJe: 
Yro6 oT BBIAyMKH MOeH 
Ha Bonne oKHBY THM AIO JAM 
bsrao, MoxKeT ObITh, TeMAeH, 


Yrobr pagocrhw Hex AaHHOK 
Y 60a Corpeaacb rpyJb, 

Kak oT To rapMolkKu ApaHor, 
UrTo cayantca rge-Hn6y Ap. 


TOAKy HET, UTO, MOMKET CTATBCA, 
Y rapMOUIKM 3a AyWIOH 

Becb 3alac, 4TO Ha ABa TaHlja,— 
Pa3sBOpoT 3aTO GOADIION. 


Vi Tenepb, Kak CMOAKAM IIYUIKH, 
ITIpeqnoaoxuM Hayrad, 

Ilyctb Hac rae-HHOyfb B NMBHYLWUKe 
BcntOMHHT MocAe TpeTbeH Kpy2XKH 
C pykaBom MycTHM COAdaT; 


Ilycrb 8 KakoOH-HubyAb KallTepKe 

Y KyXOHHOrFO KpbIAbLa 

CkaxkyT B WyTKy: «OH TH, Tepkun!» — 
IIpo Kaxoro-To 6onya; 


Ilycrb o Tepkune noyreHHHn 
CxaxeT BaxkKHO reHepaaA,— 
OH-TO CKaxKeT HeENpeMeHHO,— 
UTO Meqaab eMy Bpy4aa; 


Ilyctb 4HTaTeAb BEPOATHHIM 
CkaxkeT C KHWKKOI B pyke: 
— Bort cruxu, a sce NOHATHO, 
Bce Ha pyCCKOM A3bIKe... 


A AoBoaen Gpta Gul, MpaBo, 
U—ne ropa weaopek — 
Hu Ha 4b10 HHYIO CAaBy 
He cMeH10 TOFO BOBEK. 


371 


And I strove to work real wonders, 
Hoped my brainchild might bring more 
Cheer into the lives of people 

Fighting out this bitter war; 


That the soldier might be gladdened, 
As when he might chance to hear 
That old, battered, bruised accordion 
Which could turn up anywhere. 


If you stretch those wheezing bellows 
Out as far as they will go, 

You can store up wind in surplus 
For two dances in one blow. 


Now that all the guns are silent, 

Let us venture to believe 

That our names will be remembered 
In the tavern by some veteran 
Soldier with an empty sleeve. 


In the scullery or the pantry 
Or outside the kitchen door, 
Let them say of some bright soldier: 
“You're a Tyorkin, that’s for sure!” 


May the much-respected general 
Mention Tyorkin with an air. 
He'll be bound to tell you how he 
Decorated him somewhere. 


And may anyone who’s read it, 

With this book of mine in hand 
Say: “It’s poetry, but it’s Russian 
Anyone can understand.” 


That would make me truly happy. 
I’m not jealous of my name, 

But I'd not trade Tyorkin’s glory, 
Not for anybody’s fame. 


372 


IlopectTbh MaMATHOM TOAHHH, 
Ory KHHTy npo 6onya, 

A wm Haqaa C CepeAHHbI 

VM s3axonuma 6e3 KOH. 


C MBICABIO, MOET, ACPIHOBECHHOM 
TlocBaTuTb AiOumbIit Tpyd 
TlaBuiuM maMATH CBAUIEHHOH, 
Bcem Apy3bAM ops BOeEHHOH, 
Bcem cepayaMm, uel gopor cy. 


1941—1945 


373 


So my book about a soldier, 
Tale. of stirring times I’ve penned, 
Starting somewhere in the middle, 
Leaving off before the end, 


To commemorate, however 

Bold the intention might appear, 
Those whose names snall live forever, 
All whom wartime brought together, 
All whose verdict I hold dear. 


1941-1945 


374 
AFTERWORD 


HOW VASSILI TYORKIN WAS WRITTEN" 


The first chapters of Vassili Tyorkin were published in 1942, although 
the hero’s name had become known through the Army press considerably 
earlier. But it was in 1942 that, as the author of “A Book About A Soldier”, 
I began receiving readers’ letters which, in addition to general criticisms of 
this work, contained comments, requests, and queries. These queries were 
many and varied, but can be reduced, in essence, to three: 

1. Did Vassili Tyorkin exist in real life, or was he invented? 

2. How was the book wnitten? 

3. Why has there been no post-war sequel to Tyorkin? 

I shall begin at the beginning with the first question, which is the one 
most frequently asked about the principal character of any book. 

“Does Tyorkin exist in real life?”, “Is he a type, or a person actually 
known to you?”, “Is he real?” —these are three random examples of the 
way this question was usually formulated. I began receiving such enquiries 
from readers almost as soon as “A Book About A Soldier” began appearing 
in the newspapers and magazines. Some letters evidently expected an ans- 
wer in the affirmative, but it was patently clear from others that the reader 
was in no doubt whatever about the existence of a “rea]” Tyorkin and that 
it was merely a question of “Is he in our division or some other one?” 
Instances of letters being addressed not to me, the author, but to Vassili 
Tyorkin in person provide further evidence of the widespread notion that 
Tyorkin was a “real person”. 

In short, some readers were, and still are, under the impression that 
Tyorkin is, so to speak, a private individual, a soldier with that or some 
other name, registered under an Army unit and field post office number. 
Moreover, missives in prose and verse from readers indicate a wish for 
things to be that way, that is, for Tyorkin not to be a fictional character. 

However, I was, and still am, unable to satisfy these naive but much 
appreciated feelings on the part of the readers by stating (like certain other 
writers) that my hero is not invented but lives, or used to live, in 
such-and-such a place, and that I met him at such-and-such a time in 
such-and-such circumstances. 

No, Vassili Tyorkin, as he figures in the book, is an invention from start 
to finish, a product of the imagination, a creation of fantasy. And although 
I endowed him with characteristics which I had observed in many living 
people, not one of these latter can be called a prototype of Tyorkin. 


* Published in abridged form.— Ed. 


375 


The fact remains, however, that he was conceived and invented not just 

by myself alone, but by many people, including men of letters; but mainly 

-by non-literary people and, to a considerable extent, by my correspondents. 

They took a very active part in the creation of Tyorkin, from the very first 

chapter of the book right up to the conclusion, and even now they continue 
developing his image in various forms and along various lines. 

This will become clearer as I go into the second question, which occurs 
even more frequently in my mail — “How was Tyorkin written? Where did 
the book come from?” 

“What did you use as material for it, and what served as your 
starting .point?”. 

“Surely the author himself was a Tyorkin?” 

Such enquiries come not just from ordinary readers, but from people 
specialising in literature: college students writing theses on Vassilt Tyorkin, 
teachers, scholars, critics, librarians, lecturers, and so on. 

I shall attempt to describe how Tyorkin took shape. 

Vassili Tyorkin, as I have already mentioned, became known to the 
reader, principally the Army reader, from 1942 on. But “Vasya Tyorkin” 
was already a familiar hame as early as 1939, at the commencement of the 
Finnish campaign. At that time, the Leningrad Military District newspaper, 
On Guard for the Homeland, was publishing contributions by a team of 
writers and poets: Tikhonov, Sayanov, Shcherbakov, Vashentsev, Solodar, 
and the author of these lines. 

In the course of discussions with the editorial staff about the tasks and 
nature of our work as writers for an Army newspaper, we decided that 
what was needed was to start something by way of a humorous section, or 
weekly skit, written by members of the team and featuring verses and 
illustrations. And so we writers attached to the editorial office of On Guard 
for the Homeland decided to find a character for a series of amusing cartoons 

. with rhyming captions. He had to be a cheerful, happy-go-lucky soldier, a 
kind of rough-hewn folk figure. We tried to think of a name for him. It had 
to be a telling one, with irreverent and satirical undertones. Someone 
suggested calling our hero Vasya Tyorkin *— Vasya, not Vassili. There 
were other suggestions: Vanya, Fedya, and so on; but Vasya won the day. 
And that is how the name was found. 

The job of writing an introduction to the proposed series of skits fell to 
me. I was to give a portrait of Tyorkin, even if only in the most general 
terms, and I had to set the tone and style of our forthcoming talks to the 
reader. Previously to this, On Guard for the Homeland had published a short 
poem of mine, “Bivouac”, written under the immediate impression of a 
visit to a certain division. 


* From the Russian verb teryet (literally —to rub); suggests someone-who has knocked about a 
bit.— Tr. 


376 


One stanza in the poem went as follows: 


He had genius, some old chap: 
Found a way of boiling 

Soup with never spill or slop 
While the kitchen’s rolling. 


As I had not had any experience of Army service at that time (apart 
from a short spell with the liberation campaign in Western Byelorussia), 
and as I had never wnitten anything to do with Army life, this poem was my 
first step in tackling new subject matter. I was still very unsure of myself at 
this stage, clinging to my habitual rhythms and cadences. In my 
introduction to the collective Tyorkin, I returned to these earlier cadences 
which, as applied to the new material and the new task, seemed to me the 
most suitable. 

Here are a few stanzas from the “early” Tyorkin: 


Vasya Tyorkin? Who's he, pray? 
Not to be contrary, 

He’s a person, shall we say, 
Extraordinary. 


Not a prepossessing name, 
Doesn't ring too slickly; 
But he won a hero’s tame 
Altogether quickly. 


And moreover we should add, 
If you're curious, really, 

Why his comrades call the lad 
Vasya, not Vassili! 


Why, because he’s popular, 
Friendly as none other. 

Folk, no matter who they are, 
Love him like a brother. 


Over seven feet tall, well-knit, 
Of true giant stature, 

Well endowed with mother wit 
And a buoyant nature; 


And in battle, or elsewhere 

(It’s quite incidental), 

Vasya thinks a right good square 
Meal is most essential. © 


But he’s not one to hold out 
When it comes to prowess, 
Pitching foes like sheaves about 
In the summer harvest. 


377 


Rather grim though he may look, 
This there’s no denying: 

He can’t live without a joke 

Or a witty saying. 


I should mention that when I became more involved with “Tyorkin” as 
he is today, I drastically altered his features, beginning with the most 
important one of all: 


Tyorkin? Who might he be, pray? 
No need to be chary: 

He’s a fellow, you might say, 
Rather ordinary.... 


And this alone is enough-to account for the hero’s different names: 
Vasya in the former case, and Vassili Tyorkin in the latter. 

All the subsequent illustrated skits by our wniters’ team bore uniform 
titles commencing with the words: “How Vasya Tyorkin...”. Here is an 
example of a complete skit, “How Vasya Tyorkin took a prisoner”: 


1. Fir trees thin and snowdrifts dense; 
Tyorkin’s on reconnaissance, 
Camouflaged from head to toe 
In a cloak as white as snow. 


2. Tyorkin listens, Tyorkin sees — 
White Finn coming up on skis, 
Never guessing, foolish chap, 
That he’s heading for a trap. 


3. Tyorkin works a simple ruse, 
Of his camouflage makes use; 
Burrows down and then lies low, 
Looking like a heap of snow. 


4. To the Finn it looks a fine 
Prospect for a “trampoline”. 
Down he swoops. He's nearly there — 


5. Hold it! Stop! No thoroughfare! 
That’s how Tyorkin struck it lucky 
Using camouflage on reccy, 


6. And then, with no more ado, 
Marched his man to Staff HQ. 


After paying tribute to Vasya Tyorkin with one or two skits, most of his 
originators, according to inclination and opportunity, took up other work 
for the paper: one did articles on military history, another — outlines and 
sketches about life at the front, yet another—verses, and so on. 


378 


Shcherbakov, a Red Army poet and a long-standing contributor to the 
paper, became the principal author of Tyorkin. 

Tyorkin was more of a success with the Red Army reader than all the rest 
of our articles, verses and sketches, although our attitude at the time to this 
success was rather superior and condescending. Quite justifiably, we didn’t 
regard it as literature. When the war was over in Finland, one of my fellow 
writers for the Army press asked me what I was working on now and, 
hearing that I was busy with Tyorkin, he wagged his finger admonishingly 
at me as if to say: you're working on that now? A likely story! 

And yet “Tyorkin” was now all I could think of, work on, or worry 
about. “Tyorkin”, I thought, as I tackled the job afresh, should be 
promoted from the “Comic Corner”, the “Point Blank” column and so 


forth, in which he had hitherto been featured under this or that name, and 
should consume not just a small fraction of my energy in narrowly 
specialised “humorous” writing, but all my powers to the full. It’s hard to 
say precisely on what day and at what hour I made the decision to throw 
myself into the task with everything I had, but in the summer and autumn 
of 1940 I was already living and breathing this project, which now 
overshadowed all my previous intentions and plans. One thing is clear: my 
decision resulted from the vivid impressions left by the war which I had just 
been through and after which I simply couldn’t go back to my ordinary 
literary work. 

Tyorkin, as I planned it at the time, should combine simplicity and 
unpretentiousness of form —the direct functionalism of the skit Tyor- 
kin — with seriousness and perhaps even lyricism of content. 

The weakness of the old “Tyorkin”, as I now realise, was that he 
belonged to the tradition of an earlier time when poetry, as addressed to 
the masses, was deliberately simplified for a different cultural and political 
level of reader, and when this poetry was not the ultimate form of lyrical 
expression for its creators, who put their hopes of true achievement and 
“real” art in a temporarily postponed form of “real” creativeness. 

Things were different now. There was a new reading public—the 
children of those revolutionary fighters for whom Demyan Bedny and 
Vladimir Mayakovsky had written songs, chastushkas, and satirical coup- 
lets—and each and every one of them was literate, politically mature, 
familiar with many benefits of culture, and had grown up in Soviet times. 

My first concern was to digest my experiences during the recent war, 
which had been not just my first war, but my first truly intimate meeting 
with Army personnel. During the fighting, I came to realise profound- 
ly —felt to the core of my being, as the expression goes — that our Army 
was not a special world standing apart from the rest of our society, but 
simply those same Soviet men and women placed in the conditions of life in 
the Army and at the front. 


379 


I transferred my rough pencil jottings to a fair copybook, writing down 
some passages fresh from memory. In this material, which was new to me, 
everything was precious down to the smallest trifle —a visual impression, a 
turn of phrase, an aptly used word, a detail of everyday life at the front. 
But dearest of all to me were the people I had been fortunate enough to 
meet, get to know, and talk to on the Karelian Isthmus. Driver Volodya 
Artyukh, smith-artilleryman Grigori Pulkin, tank commander Vassili 
Arkhipov, airman Mikhail Trusov, Alexander Poskonkin of the Coastal 
Infantry, Army doctor Mark Rabinovich —all these and many others with 
whom I talked through the night in some dug-out or overcrowded house 
that had managed to remain standing in the front-line zone, were not just 
passing acquaintances whom I had encountered in the course of my 
professional duties as a journalist, although I saw most of them only once, 
and briefly at that. I had already written something about each of them —a 
profile or some verses — and the very work of doing this had made me sift 
through my fresh impressions, that is to say, “absorb” everything 
connected with these acquaintances of mine. 

As I developed my plan for Tyorkin, I went on thinking about them, 
clarifying for myself their essence as representatives of the first 
post-October generation. 

“It is not this war, whatever it may be like,” I wrote in my notebook, 
“that has made these people, but the greater thing that was before the war. 
The revolution, collectivisation, the whole way of life. And the war has been 
revealing these people’s qualities, has been bringing them out into the clear 
light of day. True, the war has done something too.” 

And again: 

“I feel that the Army is going to be as dear a theme to me as that of the 
reorganisation of life in the rural areas, and Army people are as dear to me 
as the people of the collective farms in the country; but then, in the main, 
they are the same people. 

“Task — to penetrate their inner spiritual world, to feel them as my own 
generation (a writer is the contemporary of any generation). They have 
been through childhood, adolescence and youth under the Soviet 
administration, in the _ factory schools, on _ the collective 
farms, in Soviet higher educational institutions. Their consciousness has 
formed under the impact of our literature too, amongst other things.” 

I was inspired by the spiritual beauty of these people, by their modesty, 
by their high political awareness, by their ready humour when the 
conversation dwelt on the very trying experiences which they had had to 
face on active service. And yet whatever I had written about them in verse 
or prose, I still felt that I hadn’t really got to the bottom of it all. Behind 
those iambics and trochaics of mine, behind the phraseological turns of the 


380 


newspaper profiles, the original, living idioms in the speech of smith Pulkin 
or airman Trusov, the jokes, the mannerisms, the idiosyncrasies of the 
other real-life characters—al! had somehow failed to come off and were 
real only to me. 
I was already beginning to experiment with the verse, feeling my way 

owards beginnings, introductions, opening cadences: 

... In the war across that river, 

By the banks of the Syestra, 

Deep in snowdrifts, many a soldier 

Won a hero’s Golden Star. 

There, unsung in poem or story, 

In the fir glades’ swampy hell, 

Many for their country’s glo 

Bravely fought and nobly fell... 


This metre, four-foot trochaics, seemed more and more suitable for the 

poem. ; 
Generally: speaking, ‘I think that metre should not be born of a wordless 
drone, like that of which Mayakovsky speaks, but of words themselves, of 
meaningful verbal combinations inherent in the living language. If these 
combinations happen to fit into the pattern of any of the so-called canonical 
metres, then they subordinate it to themselves, not vice versa, and take the 
form, not just of iambs or trochees (the count of stressed and unstressed 
syllabies is too conventional and abstract a measure), but of something 
entirely original—a.new rhythm, as it were. 

The first line of “Crossing Over”, which became the leitmotif for the 
whole chapter, was made up of “crossing over” repeated in a tone of voice 
that seemed to presage everything implied in the words: 

Crossing over, crossing over... 

I spent so long reflecting on and visualising, in all its reality, the episode 
of a crossing which cost many ‘lives and enormous moral and physical 
effort, and which has probably impressed itself for all time on the 
memories of those who took part in it—I had so “lived” the experience, 
that I suddenly found myself uttering this exclamation which was also a 
sigh: ; 

Crossing over, crossing over... 

And I “believed” in it. I felt that it could not be said in any other way, 
containing, as it did, all that it signified: battle, blood, losses, the deadly 
night cold, and the great courage of men going to their deaths for the 
Motherland. 

There is, of course, absolutely nothing original about this, and the 
repetition of a word in the opening lines has been, and still is, widely used 
in oral and written poetry. 

For me, however, it was a revelation. A line had come into being and I 
could no longer do.without it. I did not care whether it was in trochees or 


381 


not, because no such line had ever existed in trochees before; but it 
existed now and, moreover, it had set the tone and cadence of what was to 
follow. 

That is how I hit on the beginning for one of the chapters in Tyorkin. 

June 22nd, 1941, put an end to all my heart-searchings, doubts, and 
conjectures. They now belonged to the normal peace-time literary life 
which we had to abandon and shake off if we were to fulfil the tasks that 
now confronted each of us. So I put aside my notebooks, outlines, jottings, 
intentions, and plans. It never occurred to me at the time that this work of 
mine, interrupted by the outbreak of a major war, would be needed in 
wartime. 

In my capacity as special correspondent or, to be more precise, in my 
capacity as “writer” (there was such a staff appointment in the military 
press), I arrived at the South-Western Front, reported to the editorial 
office of the newspaper Red Army, and began doing the same kind of work 
as all writers at the front. 

I wrote sketches, verses, skits, slogans, leaflets, songs, articles, notes — in 
a word, everything. 

One of my comrades at the front presented me with a fat exercise-book. 
Although it was bound in black oilcloth, the paper was of inferior quality, 
rough in texture and with the consistency of blotting paper. I used it as an 
album in which I stuck or pinned my daily “output” as cuttings from the 
newspaper. In the atmosphere of life at the front, with its constant 
travelling and night bivouacs, in conditions when it was necessary to be 
prepared for marching orders at any time and to have one’s kit ready 
packed, this album, which I kept in my document case, was for me an 
all-purpose aid which performed the functions of briefcase, filing cabinet, 
desk drawers, and so forth. It helped me to preserve something that was 
very important at that time—a sense of continuity and orderliness, 
however relative, in my own “personal routine”. 

.. Before the spring of 1942, I arrived in Moscow and, looking through 
my notebooks, suddenly decided to revive Vassili Tyorkin. The introduction 
about water, food, jokes and the truth was written straight off. I soon 
finished “Bivouac”, “Crossing Over”, “Tyorkin Wounded”, and “On 
Military Decorations”, which I already had in draft form. “The Accordion” 
remained essentially the same as when it was first published. The chapter 
“Before Battle” was entirely new, based on impressions of the summer of 
1941 on the South-Western Front. 

I wasn’t long troubled with doubts and apprehensions concerning the 
indefiniteness of genre, the lack of an initial plan for the work as a whole, 
or by the weak story link-ups between chapters. Not a poem? Well, leave it 
that way, I decided. No single plot? Do without one, then; it’s not essential. 
No real beginning to the story? There isn’t time to invent one. No climax 


382 


and ending planned to round off the narrative? Let well alone, strike while 
the iron’s hot, and when the time comes, it'll sort itself out. Once I had 
made this decision, absolving myself of all inner sense of obligation to the 
conventions of form and summarily dismissing any possible criticism of my 
work by the literary world, J felt cheerful and happy. As if making fun of 
myself and my own scheme, I drafted out the lines telling how “this 
soldier’s book was penned—no beginning and no end”. And, indeed, 
there was “no time for spinning all this yarn from the beginning”: there 
was a war on, and I had no right to put off till tomorrow what must be said 
today, at once, without waiting for the time when it could all be treated 
consecutively right from the beginning. 


Why is it without an end? 
So that we can spare our friend. 

This explanatian seemed understandable in wartime conditions, when 
the end of a story about a hero could mean only one thing — his death. But 
in letters from comrades who were not just members of the general public 
but who were analysing Tyorkin on a scientific basis, so to speak, there was 
some bewilderment over these lines: shouldn’t they be taken some other 
way? No, they should not! 

I won't say, however, that problems of form ceased to trouble me any 
more after I had plucked up the courage to write “without form”, “with no 
end and no beginning”. I was worried about form, only not the kind of 
form which is meant in relation to, say, the genre of a poem, but that which 
I needed and inevitably and gradually arrived at by trial and error in the 
process of working on that particular book. _ 

I made it my first principle of composition and style to aim at a certain 
completeness of each separate part, or chapter, and, within the chapter, 
each period and even each stanza. I had to bear in mind the reader who, 
although unfamiliar with the previous chapters, could find something 
complete and rounded off in the particular issue of the newspaper he had 
before him. Moreover, this reader might well be unable to wait until the 
next chapter: he was, like the hero, at the front. And it was this 
approximate completeness of each chapter with which I was primanly 
concerned. I held nothing back, saved nothing for some other occasion, 
endeavouring to say all I had to say in the latest—that is, the 
current — issue, to express my mood to the full, to convey each fresh 
impression, idea, motif, and image as it occurred. True, I did not arrive at 
this principle until a later stage, that is, after the first few successive 
chapters of Tyorkin had been published in a batch, and the rest were being 
printed one at a time as they were finished. I consider that my decision to 
publish the first chapters before I had finished the book was the right one 
and had much to do with determining the future of Tyorkin. The reader 


383 


had a hand in making the book what it was, and I shall have more to say 
about this later. 

The subtitle “A Book About A Soldier”, for which I finally settled, was 
not the result of an endeavour simply to avoid the term “poem”, “tale”, 
and the like. It coincided with the decision not to write a poem, or a tale, or 
a novel in verse—in other words, not to write something with its own 
sanctioned and more or less obligatory conventions of plot and composi- 
tion. No such conventions emerged with me, but something did emerge 
nevertheless, and this something I entitled “A Book About A Soldier”. I 
was much influenced in this choice of subtitle by the special sound of the 
word “book” as J heard it in childhood on the lips of the common people, 
and which seems to take it for granted that a book exists in one copy only. If 
the word ever got round amongst the peasants that there was such-and- 
such a book, and such-and-such things had been written in it, this in no way 
implied that there could be another book exactly like it. One way or the 
other, the word “book” in this popular sense has special overtones, 
implying something serious, authoritative and absolute. 

And if I ever thought, as I worked on it, that my book might be a 
success, I often imagined it published as a soft-cover edition, like the Army 
Regulations, with the soldier keeping it in his boot, his tunic, or his hat. As 
for its structure, I dreamed that the reader might open it at any page and 
start from there. 

After the chapters of the first part of Tyorkin began appearing in 
print, it became my all-absorbing and principal occupation at the 
front. 

No work of mine ever went less easily to start with or more easily 
afterwards than Vassili Tyorkin. True, 1 rewrote each chapter many times, 
checking it for sound, and spent much time labouring over a single line or 
stanza. . 

For example, I remember how the beginning of the chapter “Death and 
the Soldier” took shape, “modelled”, in the poetic sense of the word, on 
the lines of the old song about a soldier: 


Don’t you hover, old black raven, 
Wheeling low above my head. 
Here’s no carrion for the having; 
I am still alive, not dead.... 


At first, I just jotted down lines of verse alternating with prose; it was 
important to “sketch out” the picture as a whole: 


Wounded lay a Russian soldier... 


Tyorkin lies bleeding on the snow. Death has settled by him and 
says: 


384 


“You're good as dead.” 

“No, not yours yet,” Tyorkin said. 
“Living soldier I, not dead.” 

“Well, if you’re not dead, 

Move your hand or move your head.” 
Whereon Tyorkin softly answered, 
“I’m just keeping quiet instead.” 


Then came the opening stanza: 


On a hillock on the moorland, 
Lost and feeling low, one day, 
Tyorkin, lonely and unheeded, 


In the snow abandoned lay. 


But there weren’t enough details to suggest a battlefield, and the 
resulting picture had too much of the conventional folk-song about it: “on 
the moorland..."—you expected to hear “’neath the willow” at any 
moment. But I needed the realities of the present war along with the 
cadences from the familiar song. Moreover, the second line was no use — it 
lacked simplicity. It smacked of literary conceit rather than lyrical verse. 
Then came the stanza: 


As the battle din receded 

Over the hills and far away, 
Tyorkin, lonely and unheeded, 
In the snow abandoned lay. 


This was not very good, but it gave a quite definite feeling of time and 
place: the battle is already far away, the wounded soldier has been lying on 
the snow for some time, and he’s freezing to death. The next stanza 
naturally develops the first: 


Blood and snow to ice had hardened 
Underneath hime Stealthily, 

Death stopped over him and whispered: 
“Soldier, come along with me.” 


But this chapter as a whole came easily and quickly. I hit on the basic 
tone and composition straightway.* But goodness knows how many lines I 
wrote and rewrote time and time again, often rejecting them in the end, 
yet feeling just as happy as if I had written successful new ones. 


* The chapter “Death and the Soldier” may, amongst other things, also be said to form a close 
kink between Vassili Tyorkin and Tyorkin in the Underworld, which was to be published many years 
later. This chapter contains the external plot of my latest poem: Tyorkin, picked up half-dead on the 
battlefield, comes back to life from non-existence, from the “other world", the description of 
which gives the theme of my “second Tyorkin" its special contemporary significance.— 
Author's note. 


385 


By this time, I was no longer at the South-Western, but at the Western 
(3rd Byelorussian) Front. The front-line troops were now stationed, 
roughly speaking, in the eastern part of the Smolensk Region. The 
movement of this front, which was soon to relieve Smolensk, was the 
inspiration behind certain lyrical motifs in the book. As a native of the 
Smolensk country and bound to it by many personal and biographical ties, 
I could not help but see my hero as a native of those parts. 

One more confession. About halfway through the book I was nearly 
seduced by the temptations of “plot interest”. I was even on the verge of 
getting my hero ready to cross the front line and operate behind the enemy 
lines in the Smolensk area. Such a turn of events would in many respects 
have seemed organic and natural, apparently giving me the chance to 
widen my hero’s activities, bring in new descriptive passages, and so forth. 
The chapter “The General”, in the first published version, was given over 
to a scene in which Tyorkin says good-bye to his divisional commander 
before going behind the enemy lines. Other extracts also were published 
dealing with life in the enemy’s rear. But I soon realised that this was 
reducing the book to a kind of personal history, diminishing it and 
depriving it of that front-line “universality” of content which I had 
originally set out to achieve and which had already made “Tyorkin” a 
nickname for soldiers of his type. I firmly rejected this course, cut out 
everything to do with the enemy rear, redrafted “The General”, and 
continued developing my hero’s story according to my original plan. 

Speaking of the work as a whole, I can only repeat what I have already 
said in print concerning “A Book About A Soldier”: 

“Whatever its purely literary significance may be, it was for me a true 
joy. It gave me a sense of the legitimacy of the artist’s place in the great 
struggle of the people, a feeling of the obvious usefulness of my labours, 
and a sence of total freedom in handling poetry and words in a naturally 
evolving and uninhibited narrative form. In the mutual relationship of 
writer and reader, Tyorkin was my poetry, my journalism, my song, my 
homily, my humour, my lore, my heart-to-heart talk, and my commentary 
on events. 

The front-line reader who, in the course of direct and indirect 
acquaintance through the pages of the press, had become for me my 
collaborator —to the extent of his involvement in my work—-this reader 
for his part also looked on Tyorkin as our common task. 

“Dear Alexander (I don’t know your patronymic),” wrote Ivan 
Andreyev, a soldier, “if you are in need of material, I might be able to help. 
A year at the front and seven battles have taught me a thing or two and 
made something of an impression.” 

“While at the front, I heard a soldier tell a story about Vasya Tyorkin 
that I haven’t read in your poem,” reported K. V. Zorin from Vyshnii 
Volochok. “Would you be interested, perhaps?” 


386 


“Why has our Vassili Tyorkin gone and got himself wounded?” 
demanded D. Kaliberdy and others in a joint letter. “How did he end up in 
hospital? After all, he managed to shoot down a fascist plane without 
getting wounded. Has he landed up in hospital with a cold in the nose? 
That's not like our Tyorkin. It’s bad, so don’t write about him like that. 
Tyorkin should always be with us up at the front line, like the cheerful, 
resourceful, bold and determined fellow he is.... With all best wishes! We 
look forward to Tyorkin getting out of hospital as soon as possible.” 

And many more letters like this in which the reader’s concern with the 
hero’s fate develops into an actual involvement in the business of writing 
about it... 

In May 1945, “From the Author”, the concluding chapter of Tyorkin, 
was published. It evoked many reactions in verse and prose, and 
ninety-nine per cent of them boiled down to one thing: the readers wanted 
to see Tyorkin in peacetime working conditions. I still receive such letters, 
and they are sometimes addressed not to me, but to the editors of various 
publications or to the Writers’ Union — in other words, to organisations 
which, in the opinion of the letter-writers, can bring some kind of official 
influence to bear on me. 

V. Minerov of the Prechistoye District in the Smolensk Region, in a 
postscript to his verses “The Search for Tyorkin” addressed to an editorial 
office in Moscow, writes: “Do please excuse these rough and ready verses. 
I’m not a poet, but I was driven to it, just to get Tvardovsky working 
again.” 

In requests and advice to write a sequel to Tyorkin, the hero’s activity in 
peacetime is usually determined by the type of occupation held by the 
letter-writer. Some would like Tyorkin to stay in the Army on extended 
service, teaching the younger generation of soldiers and setting them an 
example. Others want to see him inevitably back at the collective farm and 
working as chairman or foreman. A third group find that the best sequel to 
his story would be a job on one of the great postwar construction projects, 
such as the Volgo-Don Canal... 

The sheer variety of requests about the precise fate of the postwar 
Tyorkin could put me in an extremely difficult position. 

But this, of course, is not the real point. 

I have written, and still do write, to my correspondents to explain that 
Tyorkin was a book born of the specific and unique atmosphere of the 
war years and that, with its specific function no longer necessary, the 
book cannot be continued with different material that would require a 
different hero and different motifs. Let me quote from the concluding 
chapter: 

Now we need another song; 
Wait, and it will come along. 


as EEE SS SSS 


387 


Vassili Tyorkin comes from the “element” of contemporary 
quasi-folklore represented by the newspaper and notice-board skit, the 
repertoire of the variety stage, the chastushka, the comic song, doggerel, and 
‘the like. It has now given birth to much similar material as used in the 
newspapers, special publications, variety, and everyday speech. It is, in fact, 
returning to its origins. And in this sense, “A Book About A Soldier”, as I 
have already mentioned, is not so much my own work as the result of 
collective authorship. 

After Tyorkin the Army college trainee, we have Tyorkin the 
anti-aircraft gunner; Tyorkin demobilised and going to the Bratsk 
Hydroelectric Project; Tyorkin in the electric forge shop, Tyorkin on 
virgin soil, Tyorkin the civil policeman... He acquired “sons” and 
“nephews”. The years pass, and even our hero’s age, in conformity with 
the interests of the younger generation of readers, undergoes 
the appropriate “adjustment”. The collective “sequel” to Tyorkin 
can only please me and inspire a feeling of affinity with my numerous 
collaborators. 

As for my own share of the work, I consider that it is now finished. In 
no way am I upset about this, as the original author. On the contrary, I 
am very pleased. I had the good fortune in my time to work 
on the development of Tyorkin’s image, which has become, as the 
written and spoken reactions of the reading public confirm, fairly 
popular. 

But, of course, I feel very differently about one particular instance of a 
“sequel” to “A Book About A Soldier”, written out of motives profoundly 
alien to the image of Tyorkin and in a manner bearing not even the 
remotest resemblance to the universally accepted ideas of what constitutes 
the literary profession. 

I refer to the publication in New York of a book written by a certain 
S. Yurasov and entitled Vassili Tyorkin After the War, with the subsequent 

‘qualification in brackets, “After A. Tvardovsky”. This “collaborator” is no 

naive beginner and his work is no guileless “effort of the pen”. He is 
credited on the jacket of this book with an autobiographical novel, An 
Enemy of the People, which tells the story of “Soviet Major Fyodor Panin who 
decided to break with Bolshevism and become an émigré”. 

Yurasov pretends that he has taken quite literally what I said in “A 
Reply to the Reader”, to the effect that “A Book About A Soldier” is, in a 
sense, not my own personal creation but the result of collective authorship. 
And this is what he writes: 

“Part of Vassili Tyorkin After the War is based on what I heard in the 
Army and in the Soviet Union. Some passages in this part coincide with 
individual passages in A. Tvardovsky’s book, but have an entirely different 
meaning. It would be hard to say which ones are imitations of the poet in 
anonymous Tyorkins and which belong to folklore and were used by A. 
Tvardovsky.” 


388 


“It may be said,” continues Yurasov, “that Vassili Tyorkin, as he lives 
and is being created to this day in the depths of the Army and the people, is 
a free popular work of creative art.” 

Having presented his case in this wise, Yurasov takes upon himself the 
right to full “licence” in handling the text of my Vassili Tyorkin. 

We open the book at page one: 


If the stream bears you along, 
Celebrate that stream in song.... 


From the first days of affliction, 


In the homeland’s hour of grief, 
You and I, Vassili Tyorkin, 
Bosom friends became for life. 


But I never had a notion 

Just how famous you’d become, 
Or how everyone would like you 
And you’d win the hearts of some. 

And so on, line after line, all correctly “after Tvardovsky”, except that, 
for instance, the line “From the first days of affliction” has been replaced 
with the clumsy-sounding “From wartime’s days of affliction”, and “But I 
never had a notion” with “But nobody had an inkling” and so on up to 
page three where, after my “Did his luck change after all?”, there is 
suddenly a stanza invented purely by Yurasov: 


Been sent off to prison, maybe; 
Tyorkins these days are oppressed. 
Yes, in Forty-Five, they say he 
Made a bid to reach the West. 


This scurrilous attempt by Yurasov to equate, even if hypothetically, a 
decent Soviet soldier and hero with his own contemptible history as 
defector and traitor to his homeland can naturally evoke nothing but a 
revulsion which makes it impossible to dwell on all the tricks used in this 
unscrupulous falsification. 

It’s crude stuff. What might be called the technical aspect of Tyorkin’s 
hand-to-hand combat with a German has been taken from the chapter 
entitled “The Duel”, and various lines and stanzas have been somehow 
transposed to present the incident as a hand-to-hand fight between 
Tyorkin and a policeman. Compared to this, the car-thieves’ practice of 
respraying a stolen vehicle and changing the number plates seems 
positively honourable. 

Yurasov “quotes” stanzas, periods and whole pages of mine; but 
nowhere does he use inverted commas, assuming that his additions and 
substitutions give him the right to make what use he likes, in pursuit of his 
anti-Soviet ends, of the well-known and oft reprinted text of the Soviet 
book. It is a telling fact that this man, who has gone over to the “service” of 


389 


the bourgeois world where the supreme deity is private property, should 
have openly flouted the principle of literary property which, in our socialist 
society, is actually protected by the law, being essentially an ethical concept. 

But none of this need surprise us when, as can be seen from the 
dust-jacket of S. Yurasov’s cheap plagiarism, the publishers of this 
anti-poetic mish-mash have no qualms about naming their firm in New 
York after one of the greatest and most noble of all Russian writers, Anton 


Chekhov. 


1951-1966 


Cogepxanne 


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Page 
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From the Author .....0........ccccccccceesusccenscceceecenccecccaccucecevceseecessseesseaecauseceees 143 
“Who Did That?” ............:ccccccccesssceccsessssenseeeeeenseeenssnsessseeesseneacenagenaueneens 151 
The Her 2.0.0... .ccceescccstcccecvaverrevscccasccencnsceccnessecccesavecdssnccsssecenacessecsseceseases 163 
The General ...............cccssussccuccnscsacssucvarsessecsansusessaseenscsnssceaecececssarenseaaneces 169 
About Myself .........ccccccsscsssessssessesesenseseeseesseensessenesaeanseatenseenensesneeeneesnes 185 
The Battle of the Marshes ...............cccsseccsescnscccsnceccevecccesssesensesersccscerscecers 195 
OM LOVE 00.0... cccceccccsccceenccnscessccsccceneccuatcsscecusccensecasecessecesceseeeseecesseceseecnaavesaes 213 
Tyorkin Has a ReSt ............sscsssesssessseceecescsersescessensenserseaseseesaessssenseseannas 225 
On the Offensive .............ccccccccsssssecccccnnesscecececceasensccssepanssencceseasessseeeeeeasens 239 
Death and the Soldier ............. Lensnenacentscescseeccceececcccecensecacecsesesecsnaccesesceesens 251 
TyOrkin Write .......:cessssessesereenersnrestecesessesesneeeseeaneesenensnercorseeseneenenressens 265 
Tyorkin v. TyOrkiin ..........ccsseseeceesesnesnenereneneesenensssensanssssneneesaeaesaneneenesnens 271 
From the Author .............cccsseccossececvescesncsscccsccescescapevsecssaarssanesstepesssssanacss 283 
The Old Couple ...........::csscssssssesesnenseseseenesnesnesseneesessesersnnarenssacssesseaeeanes 293 
On the Dinieperr ...........:ccccsccssesessstssecssceessreseesesesaesnenneeescessessnsersnsseenesnenes 309 
The Bereaved Soldier ................cccccsessssccceucesesccccceeesscacessusosssecsesceueesssesees 323 
The Road to Berlin ...............0cscccescscecssosscecscssssscuseeeessecseucererseseensanseecetees 337 
The Bat hs ...........ccceccescccessocnesscrescacecssceneescsecvesascucssrcesscetanersanenceesccesseesers 349 
From the Author ..........ccccsscccsssssacenascccessccnssscecsssecsengcereaseeseseas deccuecearsereres 365 


Afterword. How Vassili Tyorkin Was Written .........-..:::::cecrreeeeenttes 374 


REQUEST TO READERS 


Progress Publishers would be glad to have your opinion of this book, 
its translation and design and any suggestions you may have 
for future publications. 
Please send all your comments to 21, Zubovsky Boulevard, 
Moscow, USSR.
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